IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


1.1 


11.25 


■tt  lU    12.2 
St  Ufi   12.0 


u  |l^ 


^ 


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HiotDgraphic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


33  WIST  MAIN  STMIT 

WIBSTIR.N.Y.  MSM 

(7I«)«72-4S03 


■^ 


V 


%  .^ 


^  A 


<ii 


CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHIVI/iCMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  IVIicroreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiquas 


T«chr.ic«ii  «ind  Biblloflraphic  Not««/Not«»  tachniquM  at  bibltographiquM 


Th«  Inttitut*  tiM  attcmpttKi  to  obtain  tho  boat 
original  copy  avaMabla  for  fllminfl.  Faaturaa  of  thia 
copy  which  may  ba  MbHooraphieaHy  uniqva. 
which  may  altar  any  of  tfia  imagoa  in  tha 
raproduetion.  or  which  may  algnificantly  changa 
tha  uaual  mathod  of  filming,  ara  chaokad  balow. 


□   Coiourad  covara/ 
Couvartura  da  eouiaur 


r~~|   Covara  damagad/ 


D 


D 


D 
D 


D 


Couvartura  andommagAa 

Covors  rastorad  and/or  laminatad/ 
Couvertura  raataurAa  at/ou  palliculAa 


I — I   Covar  tiiiti  miaaing/ 


La  titra  da  couvartura  manqua 


□   Coloured  mapa/ 
Cartas  giographiquas  an  coulaur 


Coiourad  ink  (i.a.  othar  than  blua  or  black)/ 
Encra  da  coulaur  (i.a.  autra  qua  blaua  ou  noira) 


r~|   Coiourad  plates  and/or  iliuatrations/ 


D 


Pianchea  at/ou  iliuatrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material/ 
naliA  avac  d'autrea  documanta 

Tight  binding  may  cause  shadows  or  distortion 
along  Interior  margin/ 

La  re  liure  serrie  peut  cauaar  da  I'ombre  ou  de  la 
diatortion.le  long  de  la  marge  int^rieure 

Blank  leaves  added  during  restoration  may 
appear  within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these 
have  been  omitted  from  filming/ 
II  se  peut  que  certaines  pages  blanches  aJout6es 
lors  d'une  restauration  apparaiasant  dann  la  taxte, 
mala,  lorsque  ceia  Atait  poaaible.  cea  pages  n'r  v 
pas  AtA  filmAes. 

Additional  commanta:/ 
Commentaires  supplAmentalres: 


L'Inatitut  a  microfilm*  le  maillaur  examplaira 
qu'il  lui  a  At*  poaaible  de  aa  procurer.  Lea  ditaila 
do  eat  axemplaira  qui  aont  paut-4tra  uniquaa  du 
point  da  vue  bibliographiqi^'9.  qui  pauvant  modifier 
una  image  rsproduita,  ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une 
modification  dana  la  mithoda  normala  de  filmaga 
aont  indiquAa  ci-dessous. 


D 
D 

n 

D 

0 
n 

n 
0 


Coloured  pages/ 
Pagaa  de  couleur 

Pagea  damaged/ 
Pagaa  endommagias 

Pages  restored  and/or  laminated/ 
Pages  restaurAes  eti/ou  pelliculAes 

Pages  discoloured,  stained  or  foxed/ 
Pages  dAcolorAes.  tachettes  ou  piquAes 

Pages  detached/ 
Pages  dAtachAes 

Showthrough/ 
Tranaparance 

Quality  of  print  variea/ 
Qualit^  Indgale  de  rimpressicn 

Includes  supplementary  material/ 
Comprend  du  material  suppKmantaire 

Only  edition  available/ 
Seule  Edition  disponible 

Pages  wholly  or  partially  obscured  by  errata 
slips,  tissues,  etc..  have  been  refilmed  to 
ensure  the  best  possible  image/ 
Les  pages  totalement  ou  partiellement 
obscurcies  par  un  feuiliet  d'errata.  une  pelure, 
etc.,  ont  M  film6es  A  nouveau  de  fapon  it 
obtenir  la  meilleure  image  possible. 


The 
toti 


The 
posi 
oft! 
flimi 


Orig 
begl 
the  I 
sion 
othe 
first 
sion 
or  ill 


The 
shall 
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Map 
difffl 
entiii 
begii 
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requ 
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This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  film*  au  taux  de  reduction  indiquA  ci-deasous. 

10X  14X  18X  22X 


28X 


30X 


X 


12X 


16X 


aox 


24X 


28X 


32X 


• 

Hails 
•  du 
lodifiar 
r  un« 
Image 


Tba  copy  filmad  hara  has  baan  raproducad  thanks 
to  tha  ganaroslty  of: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


Tha  Imagas  appaaring  hara  ara  tha  bast  quality 
possibia  consldaring  tha  condition  and  laglbllity 
of  tha  original  copy  and  In  kaaping  with  tha 
filming  contract  spaclflcatlons. 


Original  copias  In  printad  papar  covars  ara  filmad 
beginning  with  tha  front  covar  and  anding  on 
tha  last  paga  with  a  printad  or  illustratad  impras- 
sion,  or  tha  back  covar  whan  approprlata.  All 
othar  original  copias  ara  filmad  beginning  on  tha 
first  paga  with  a  printad  or  illustratad  impras- 
slon,  and  anding  on  tha  last  paga  with  a  printad 
or  illustratad  impression. 


»s 


L'axemplaira  fiim4  fut  reproduH  grioe  A  la 
gAnArosM  da: 

BibiiothAqua  nationale  du  Cartada 


Las  Imagas  suhrantes  ont  4t4  reprodulfes  avac  la 
plus  grand  soin,  compta  tenu  de  le  condition  et 
de  la  nettet*  de  I'exemplaire  film*,  et  en 
conformit*  avac  las  conditions  du  contrat  de 
fllmage. 

Les  exemplaires  orlglnsux  dont  ia  couverture  en 
papier  est  (mprimAe  sont  filmAs  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  ia 
darnlAre  pege  qui  comporte  une  emprelnte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustratlon,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  salon  le  cas.  Tous  las  autres  exemplaires 
origlnaux  sont  fllmto  en  commenpant  par  la 
premiere  page  qui  comporte  une  emprelnte 
d'impression  ou  d'lliustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  dernlAre  pege  qui  comporte  une  telle 
emprelnte. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  each  microfiche 
shall  contain  the  symbol  ^^-  (meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  the  symbol  y  (meaning  "END"), 
whichever  applies. 


Un  des  symboles  sulvants  apparattra  sur  la 
dernlAra  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbols  — »>  signlfie  "A  SUIVRE",  le 
symbols  V  signlfie  "FIN". 


Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc..  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  In  one  exposure  are  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diegrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  Atre 
filmAs  A  des  taux  de  rAduction  diffArents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Atre 
reprodult  en  un  seul  ciishA.  II  est  f  llmA  A  partir 
de  Tangle  supArieur  gauche,  de  gauche  A  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  !e  nombre 
d'images  nAcessalre.  Lev  dlagrammes  sulvants 
illustrent  la  mAthode. 


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M  C    M  A  )>  I 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE 

AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY 

By  MARSHALL  SAUNDERS 

Author  of  "  My  Spanish  Sailor  " 

WITH  AN  INTRODUCTION 

BY 

HEZEKIAH  BUTTERWORTH 

Uf  foutA't  Cotn^Hitu 


PHILADELPHIA 

AMERICAN   BAPTIST   PUBLICATION   SOCIETY 

1420  Chestnut  Street 

1894 


I   '•J 


%n"i 


Juv 


125670 


Entend,  according  to  Act  of  CongroH,  in  the  year  1898,  bj  the 

AMERICAN  BAPTIST  PUBLICATION  SOCIETY, 

'« the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congreei,  at  Wathingtoa 


TO 


GEORGE  THORNDIKE  ANGELL, 

I'RESIDKNT  OF  THE   AMER  CAN    HUMANE   EDUCATION   SCXTIETy,   THE 

MASSACHUSETTS  SCKIETY  FOR  THE  PREVENTION  OK  CRUELTY 

TO  ANIMAI^,  AND   THE   PARENT   AMERICAN    BAND 

OF  MERCY,  19  MILK  STREET,  BOSTON, 

THIS    BOOK    IS    RESPECTFULLY    DEDICATED 


BY  THE  AUTHOR. 


American  Humane  Edueaiion  Society  Prize  Compe- 
tition, No.  S.  Kind  and  Cruel  Treatment  of  Domestic 
AnimaU  aiul  "Birds  in  the  Nortfiem  States. 


PREFACE. 


Beautiful  Joe  is  a  real  dog,  and  "  Beautiful  Joe "  ia 
his  real  name.  He  belonged  during  the  first  part  of  bis 
life  to  a  cruel  master,  wbo  mutilated  bim  in  tbe  manner 
described  in  tbe  story.  He  was  rescued  from  bira,  and 
is  now  living  in  a  happy  home  with  pleasant  surround* 
ings,  and  enjoys  a  wide  local  celebrity. 

The  character  of  Laura  is  drawn  fr^rn  life,  and  to 
the  smallest  detail  is  truthfully  depicted.  The  Morris 
family  has  its  counterparts  in  real  life,  and  nearly  all  of 
the  incidents  of  the  story  are  founded  on  fact. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  wonderfully  successful  book,^  entitled  "  Black 
Beauty,"  came  like  a  living  voice  out  of  the  animal  king- 
dom. But  it  spake  for  the  horse,  and  made  other  books 
necessary ;  it  led  the  way.  After  the  ready  welcome  that 
it  received,  and  the  good  it  baa  accomplished  and  is 
doing,  it  followed  naturally  that  some  one  should  be  in- 
spired  to  write  a  book  to  interpret  the  life  of  a  dog  to  the 
humane  feeling  of  the  world.  Such  a  story  we  have  in 
"  Beautiful  Joe." 

The  story  speaks  not  for  the  dog  alone,  but  for 
the  whole  animal  kingdom.  Through  it  we  enter  the 
animal  world,  and  are  made  to  see  as  animals  see,  and  to 
feel  as  animals  feel,  The  sympathetic  sight  of  the 
author,  in  this  intrepretatiou,  is  ethically  the  strong  fea- 
ture of  the  book. 

Such  books  as  this  is  one  of  the  needs  of  our  progres- 
sive system  of  education.  The  day-school,  the  Sunday- 
school,  and  all  libraries  for  the  young,  demand  the  influ- 
ence that  shall  teach  the  reader  how  to  live  in  sympathy 
with  the  animal  world  ;  how  to  understand  the  languages 
of  the  creatures  that  we  have  long  been  accustomed  to 

7 


6 


INTKODUCnON. 


{f'k 


call  "dumb,"  and  the  sign  language  of  the  lower  orders 
of  these  dependent  beini^d.  The  church  owes  it  to  her 
miaaior  to  preach  and  to  teach  the  enforcenient  of  the 
"  bird's  nest  commandment ";  the  principU  recognized  by 
Modes  in  the  Hebrew  world,  and  echoed  by  Cowper  in 
English  poetry,  and  Burns  in  the  "  Meadow  Mouse,"  and 
by  our  own  Longfellow  in  songs  of  nciny  keys. 

Kindness  to  the  animal  kingdom  is  the  first,  or  a  first' 
principle  in  the  growth  of  true  philanthropy.  Young 
Lincoln  once  waded  across  a  half- frozen  river  to  rescue  a 
dog,  and  stopped  in  a  walk  with  a  statesman  to  put  back 
a  bivd  that  had  fallen  out  of  its  nest.  Such  a  heart  was 
trained  to  be  a  leader  of  men,  and  to  be  crucified  for  a 
cause.  The  conscience  that  runs  to  the  call  of  an  animal 
in  distress,  is  girding  itself  with  power  to  do  manly 
work  io  the  world. 

The  story  of  "  Beautiful  Joe  "  awakens  an  intense  in- 
terest, and  sustains  it  through  a  series  of  vivid  incidents 
and  episodes,  each  of  which  is  a  lesson.  The  story  merits 
the  widest  circulation,  and  the  universal  reading  and  re- 
sponse accorded  to  "Black  Beauty."  To  circulate  it 
is  to  do  good  ;  to  help  the  human  heart  as  well  as  the 
creatures  of  quick  feelings  and  simple  language. 

When,  as  one  of  the  committee  tc  examine  the  manu- 
scripts offered  for  prizes  to  the  Humane  Society,  I  read 
the  story,  I  felt  that  the  writer  had  a  higher  motive  than 
to  compete  for  a  prize ;  that  the  story  was  a  stream  of 
sympathy  that  flowed  from  the  heart ;  that  it  was  gen- 
uine ;  that  it  only  needed  a  publisher  who  should  be  able 


INTUODUCTION. 


9 


%m 


gen- 
able 


to  oommand  a  wide  influence,  to  make  its  merits  known, 
to  give  it  a  strong  educational  mission. 

I  am  pleased  that  the  manuscript  has  found  such  a 
publisher,  and  am  sure  that  the  issue  of  the  story  will 
honor  the  Publication  Society.  In  the  development  of 
the  book,  I  believe  that  the  humane  cause  has  stood 
above  any  speculative  thought  or  interest.  The  book 
comes  because  it  is  called  for ;  the  times  demand  it.  I 
think  that  the  publishers  have  a  right  to  ask  for  a  little 
unselfish  service  on  the  part  of  the  public  in  helping  to 
give  it  a  circulation  commensurate  with  its  opportunity, 
need,  and  influence. 

Hezekiah  Butterworth, 

(Of  the  committee  of  readers  of  the  prize  stories  offered 
to  the  Humane  Society.) 

Boston,  Mass.,  Dec,  1893. 


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1 

CONTENTS. 


Cbaptxii  PA«a 

I.  Only  a  Cub 18 

II.  Thb  Ckuel  Milkman, 19 

III.  My  Kixd  Delivxrir  anu  Miss  Laura,  24 

IV.  Thk  Morris  Boyh  Add  to  My  Namk,    .  29 
V.  My  New  Home  and  a  Selfish  Lady,    .    .  84 

YI.  The  Fox  Terrier  Billy, 46 

VII.  Training  a  Puppy, 68 

VIIL  A  Ruined  Doo, 57 

IX.  The  Parrot  Bella 62 

X.  Billy's  Training  Continued, 69 

XI.  Go  dfisu  and  Canaries, 76 

XII.  Malta  THE  Cat 86 

XIII.  The  Bkoinmino  of  an  Advknture,    ...  93 

XIV.  How  Wr  Caught  the  Bt'RGLAR,    ....  103 

XV.  Our  Journey  to  Riverdale, 113 

XVL  DiNOLBY  Farm 128 

U 

•■ 


12  ODNTENTS. 

QtAPTKB  PAOM 

XVII.  Mb.  Wood  and  his  IIorsks, 180 

XVIII.  Mrs.  Wood  b  Pooltbt 187 

XIX.  A  Band  of  Mkrct, 143 

XX.  Stories  About  Animals, 151 

XXI.  Mr.  Maxwell  and  Mr.  Harbt,    ....  164 

XXII.  What  Happbmed  at  the  Tea  Table,  .    .  171 

XXIII.  Trapping  Wild  Animals 178 

XXIV.  The  Rabbit  and  the  Hew, 187 

XXV.  A  Happt  Horse, 196 

XXVI.  The  Box  of  Monet 205 

XXVII.  A  Nkolected  Stable, 214 

XXVIII.  The  End  of  the  Englishman, 223 

XXIX.  A  Talk  About  Sheep, 231 

XXX   A  Jealous  Ox, 242 

XXX'   In  the  Cow  Stable, 250 

XXXII.  Our  Return  Home, 367 

XXXIII    Perkormino  Animals, 266 

XXXIV.  A  Fire  in  Fairport, 276 

XXXV.  Billy  and  the  iTiirLiAH,      ........  282 

XXXVI.  Dandy  the  Tramp,       287 

XXXVII.  The  End  of  My  Stobt, 291 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


CHAPTER  I. 


ONLY   A   CUR. 


JY  narae  is  Beautiful  Joe,  and  I  am  a  brown  dog 
of  medium  size.  I  am  not  called  Beautiful  Joe 
because  I  am  a  beauty.  Mr.  Morris,  the  cler- 
gyman, in  wlio.se  family  I  have  lived  for  the  last  twelve 
years,  says  that  he  thinks  I  must  be  called  Beautiful  Joe 
for  the  same  reason  that  his  grandfatlier,  down  South, 
called  a  very  ugly  colored  slave-lad  Cupid,  aud  his 
mother  Venus. 

I  do  not  know  what  he  means  by  that,  but  when  he 
Bays  it,  people  always  look  at  me  and  .«iuile.  I  know 
that  I  am  not  beautiful,  and  I  know  that  I  am  not  a 
thoroughbred.     I  am  only  a  cur. 

When  my  mistress  went  every  year  to  register  me  and 
pay  my  tax,  and  the  man  in  the  office  asked  wliat  breed 
I  was,  she  said  part  fox-terrier  and  part  bull-terrier;  but 
he  always  put  me  down  a  cur.  I  don't  think  she  liked 
having  him  call  me  a  cur ;  still,  I  have  heard  her  say  that 
ahe  preferred  curs,  for  they  have  more  character  than  well- 

18 


14 


BKAUTIFUL  JOE. 


brod  dogs.  Her  father  said  that  she  liked  ugly  dogs  for 
the  same  reason  that  a  nobleman  at  the  court  of  a  certain 
king  did — namely,  that  no  one  else  would. 

I  am  ail  old  dog  now,  and  am  writing,  or  rather  getting 
a  friend  to  writt;,  ilie  story  of  my  life.  I  have  seen  my 
mistress  laughing  and  crying  over  a  little  book  that  she 
says  is  a  stoiy  of  a  horse's  life,  and  sometimes  she  puts 
the  book  down  close  to  my  nose  to  let  me  see  the  pictures. 

I  love  ray  dear  mistress ;  I  can  say  no  more  than  that ; 
I  love  her  better  than  any  one  else  in  the  world ;  and  I 
think  it  will  please  her  if  I  write  the  story  of  a  dog's  life. 
She  loves  dumb  animals,  and  it  al.vays  grieves  her  to  see 
them  treated  cruelly. 

I  have  heard  her  say  that  if  all  the  boys  and  girls  in 
the  world  were  to  rise  up  and  say  that  there  should  be  no 
more  cruelty  to  animals,  they  could  put  a  stop  to  it. 
Perhaps  it  will  help  a  little  if  I  tell  a  story.  I  am  fond 
of  boys  and  girls,  and  though  I  have  seen  many  cruel 
men  and  women,  I  have  seen  few  cruel  children.  I  think 
the  more  stories  there  are  written  about  dumb  animals, 
the  better  it  will  be  for  us. 

In  telling  ray  story,  I  think  I  had  better  begin  at  the  first 
and  come  right  on  to  tlie  end.  I  was  born  in  a  stable  on 
the  outskirts  of  a  small  town  in  Maine  called  Fairport. 
The  first  thing  I  remember  was  lying  close  to  my  mother 
and  being  very  snug  and  warm.  The  next  thing  I  re- 
member was  being  always  hungry.  I  had  a  number  of 
brotiicrs  and  siste's — six  in  all — and  my  mother  never 
had  enough  milk  for  us.  She  was  always  half  starved 
herself,  so  she  could  not  feed  us  properly. 

I  am  very  unwilling  to  say  raucli  about  my  early  life. 
I  have  lived  so  long  in  a  family  where  there  is  nev^r  a 
harsh  word  spoken,  and  whore  no  one  thinks  of  ill-treat- 


if 


ONLY   A   CUB. 


t6 


injj  anybody  or  auythinj»,  that  it  soema  almost  wrong  even 
to  think  or  spcuk  of  such  a  matter  as  hurting  a  poor 
dumb  boast. 

The  man  that  owned  my  mother  was  a  milkman.  He 
kopt  one  horse  and  three  cows,  and  he  had  a  shaky  old 
cart  that  he  used  to  put  his  milk  cans  in.  I  don't  think 
there  can  be  a  worse  man  in  the  world  than  that  milk- 
man. It  makes  me  shudder  now  to  think  of  him.  His 
name  was  Jenkins,  and  I  am  glad  to  think  that  he  is  get- 
ting punished  now  for  his  cruelty  to  poor  dumb  animals 
and  to  human  beings.  If  you  think  it  b  wrong  that  I 
am  glad,  you  must  remember  that  I  am  only  a  dog. 

The  first  notice  that  he  took  of  w^  when  I  woii  a  little 
puppy,  just  able  to  stagger  about,  was  to  give  me  a  kick 
that  sent  me  into  a  corner  of  the  stable.  He  used  to  beat 
and  starve  my  mother,  I  have  seen  him  use  his  heavy 
whip  to  punish  her  till  her  body  was  covered  with  blood. 
When  I  got  older  I  aske<)  her  why  she  did  not  run  away. 
She  said  she  did  not  wish  to ;  but  I  soon  found  out  that 
the  reason  she  did  not  run  away,  was  because  she  loved 
Jenkins.  Cruel  and  savage  as  he  was,  she  yet  loved  him, 
and  I  believe  she  would  have  laid  down  her  life  for  him. 

Now  that  I  am  old,  I  know  that  there  are  more  men  in 
the  world  like  Jenkins.  Tliey  are  not  crazy,  they  are  not 
drunkards ;  they  simply  seem  to  be  possessed  with  a  spirit 
of  wickedness.  There  are  well-to-do  people,  yes,  and  rich 
people,  who  will  treat  animals,  and  even  little  children, 
with  such  terrible  cruelty,  that  one  cannot  even  mention 
the  things  that  they  are  guilty  of. 

One  reason  for  Jenkins'  cruelty  was  his  idleness.  After 
he  went  his  rounds  in  the  morning  ^vith  his  milk  cans,  he 
had  nothing  to  do  till  late  in  the  afternoon  but  take  care 
of  his  stable  and  yard.     If  he  had  kept  them  neat,  and 


16 


BEAUTIFITL  JOE. 


i 


'« 


':! 


'aif 


groomed  his  horse,  and  cleaned  the  cows,  and  dug  up  the 
garden,  it  would  have  taken  up  all  his  time ;  but  he  never 
tidied  the  place  at  all,  till  his  yard  and  stable  got  so 
littered  up  with  things  he  threw  down,  that  he  could  not 
make  his  way  about. 

His  house  and  stable  stood  in  the  middle  of  a  large 
field,  and  they  were  at  some  distance  from  the  road. 
Passers-by  could  not  see  how  untidy  ^he  place  was. 
Occasionally,  a  man  came  to  look  at  the  premises,  and 
see  that  they  were  in  good  order,  but  Jenkins  always 
knew  when  to  expect  him,  and  had  things  cleaned  up  a 
little. 

I  used  to  wish  that  some  of  the  people  that  took  milk 
from  him  would  come  and  look  at  his  cows.  In  the 
spring  and  summer  he  drove  them  out  to  pasture,  but  dur- 
ing the  winter  they  stood  all  the  time  in  the  dirty,  dark 
stable,  where  the  chinks  in  the  wail  were  so  big  tha>,  the 
snow  swept  through  almost  in  drifts.  The  ground  was 
always  muddy  and  wet;  there  was  only  one  small  win- 
dow on  the  north  side,  wliere  the  sun  only  shone  in  for  a 
short  time  in  the  afternoon. 

They  were  very  unhappy  cows,  but  they  stood  patiently 
and  never  complained,  tliough  sometimes  I  know  they 
must  have  nearly  frozen  in  the  bitter  winds  that  blew 
through  the  stable  on  winter  nights.  They  were  lean 
and  poor,  and  were  never  in  good  health.  Besides  being 
cold  they  were  fed  on  very  poor  food. 

Jenkins  used  to  come  home  hearly  every  afternoon  with 
a  great  tub  in  the  back  of  his  cart  that  was  full  of  what 
he  called  "  peelmgs."  It  was  kitchen  stuff  that  he  asked 
the  cooks  at  the  different  houses  where  he  delivered  milk, 
to  save  for  him.  They  threw  rotten  vegetables,  fruit 
parings,  and  scraps  from  the  table  into  a  tub,  and  gave 


ONLY    A    CUR. 


17 


them  to  him  at  the  end  of  a  few  days.    A  aour,  nasty 
mess  it  always  was,  and  not  fit  to  give  any  creature. 

Sonu'tinies,  when  he  had  not  many  "  peelinj^s,"  he  wouiii 
go  to  town  and  get  a  load  of  deeaye<l  vegetables,  that 
grocers  were  glad  to  have  him  talie  otl"  their  bands. 

This  food,  together  with  (xior  hay,  made  the  cows  give 
very  poor  milk,  and  Jenkins  ti^ttl  to  put  some  white  pow< 
der  in  it,  to  give  it  "  body,"  as  lie  said. 

Once  a  very  sad  thing  happened  about  the  milk,  that 
no  one  knew  about  but  Jenkins  and  his  wife.  She  was 
a  poor,  unhappy  creature,  very  frightened  at  her  hus- 
band, and  not  daring  to  speak  mud)  to  iiim.  8he  was 
not  a  clean  woman,  and  I  never  saw  a  worse- looking 
house  than  she  kept. 

She  used  to  do  very  queer  things,  that  I  know  now  no 
housekeeper  should  do.  I  have  seen  her  catch  up  the 
broom  to  pound  potatoes  in  the  pot.  She  pounded  with 
the  handle,  and  the  broom  would  Hy  up  and  down  in  the 
air,  dropping  dust  into  the  pot  where  the  potatoes  were. 
Her  pan  of  soft-mixed  bread  she  oftt-n  left  uncovered  in 
the  kitchen,  and  sometimes  the  hens  walked  in  and  sat 
in  it. 

The  children  used  to  play  in  mud  puddles  about  the 
door.  It  was  the  vounirest  of  them  that  sickened  with 
some  kind  of  fever  early  in  the  spring,  before  Jenkins  l)e- 
gan  driving  the  cows  out  to  pasture.  The  child  was  very 
ill,  and  Mrs.  Jenkins  wanted  to  send  for  a  ooctor,  but  her 
husband  would  not  let  her.  Tliey  made  a  bed  it)  the 
kitchen,  close  to  the  stove,  and  Mrs.  Jenkins  nursed  the 
child  as  best  she  could.  She  did  all  her  work  near  by, 
and  I  saw  her  several  times  wiping  the  child's  face  with 
the  cloth  that  she  used  for  washing  her  milk  pans. 

Nobody  knew  outside  the  family  that  the  little  girl  was 

B 


18 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


ill.  Jenkins  had  such  a  bad  name,  that  none  of  the 
neighbors  would  visit  them.  By-and-by  the  child  got 
well,  and  a  week  or  two  later  Jenkins  came  home  with 
quite  a  frightened  face,  and  toid  his  wife  that  the  huaband 
of  one  of  hia  customers  was  very  ill  with  typhoid  fever 

AfUir  a  time  the  gentleman  died,  and  the  cook  told 
Jenkins  that  the  doctor  wondered  how  he  could  have 
taken  the  fever,  for  there  was  not  a  case  in  town. 

There  was  a  widow  left  with  three  orphans,  and  they 
never  knew  that  they  had  to  blame  a  dirty,  careless  milk> 
man,  for  taking  a  kind  husband  and  father  from  them. 


CHAPTER  II. 


THE  CRUEL  MILKMAN. 

HAVE  said  that  Jenkins  spent  most  of  his  dayi 
inlfllencaa.  lie  had  to  start  out  very  early  in 
the  morning,  in  order  to  supply  his  customers 
with  milk  for  breakfast  Oh,  how  ugly  he  used  to  be,  when 
he  came  into  the  stable  on  cold  winter  mornings,  before 
the  sun  was  up. 

He  would  hang  his  lantern  on  a  hook,  and  get  his  milk« 
ing  stool,  and  if  the  cows  did  not  step  aside  just  to  suit 
him,  he  would  seize  a  broom  or  fork,  and  beat  them 
cruelly. 

My  mothfT  and  I  slept  on  a  heap  of  straw  in  the  corner 
of  the  j^tuble,  and  when  she  heard  his  step  in  the  ni(>ru- 
ing  she  always  roused  me,  so  that  we  could  run  out-doors 
as  soon  as  he  opened  the  stable  door.  He  always  aimed 
a  kick  at  us  :is  wo  passed,  but  my  mother  taught  me  how 
to  dodge  him. 

After  he  finished  milking,  he  took  the  pails  of  milk  up 
to  the  house  for  Mrs.  Jenkins  to  strain  niid  put  in  the 
cans,  and  he  came  biick  and  harnessed  hia  horse  to  the  cart. 
His  horse  was  call:'d  Ti)l)y,  and  a  poor,  miserable,  broken- 
down  creature  he  was.  He  was  weak  in  the  knees,  and 
weak  in  the  back,  and  weak  all  over,  and  Jenkins  had  to 
beat  him  all  the  time,  to  make  him  go.     He  had  l>t'en  a 


20 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


I 


I     I 


cab  horse,  and  \m  mouth  had  been  jerked,  and  twisted, 
an^i  tmwi'tl  at,  till  one  would  think  there  could  be  no  i'ecl- 
ini;  left  in  it;  still  I  have  aeen  him  wince  and  cuil  up  hi^ 
lip  when  Jeukina  thrubt  iu  the  frosty  bit  on  a  winter's 
morning. 

Poor  old  Toby !  I  used  to  lie  on  my  straw  sometimcfl 
and  wonder  he  did  not  cry  out  witli  pain.  Cold  and 
half  starved  Iu;  always  waa  in  the  winter  time,  and  often  with 
raw  sores  on  his  body  that  Jenkins  would  try  to  hide  by 
putting  biu  of  cloth  under  the  hanK's.s.  Hut  Toby  never 
murmured,  and  he  never  tried  to  kick  and  bite,  and  he 
minded  the  lea.«t  word  from  Jenkins,  and  if  he  swore  at 
him,  Toby  would  start  back,  or  st^^o  up  quickly,  he  was 
so  anxious  to  please  him. 

Afler  Jenkins  put  him  in  the  cart,  and  took  in  the  cans, 
he  set  out  on  his  rounds.  My  mother,  whoso  name  was 
Jess,  always  went  with  him.  I  used  to  ask  her  why  she 
followed  such  a  brute  of  a  man,  and  she  would  hang  her 
head,  and  say  that  sometimes  she  got  a  bone  from  the 
different  houses  they  stopped  nt.  But  that  was  not  the 
whole  reason.  She  liked  Jenkins  so  much,  that  she  want- 
ed to  be  with  him. 

I  had  not  her  sweet  and  patient  disposition,  and  I  would 
not  go  with  her.  I  watched  her  out  of  sight,  and  then  ran 
up  to  the  house  to  see  if  Mrs.  Jenkins  had  any  scraps  for  me. 
I  nearly  always  got  something,  for  she  pitied  me.  and 
often  gave  me  a  kind  word  or  look  with  the  bits  of  food 
that  she  threw  to  me. 

When  Jenkins  came  home,  I  often  coaxed  mother  to 
run  about  and  see  some  of  the  neighbors'  do^  with  me. 
But  she  never  would,  and  I  would  not  leave  her.  So, 
from  morning  to  night  we  had  to  sneak  about,  keeping 
out  of  Jenkins'  way  as  much  as  we  could,  and  yet  trying 


THE  CFIUKL   MILKMAN. 


31 


t<)  keep  him  in  sis^lit.  Ho  always  Hauntcrfd  about  with  a 
pi{Hi  ill  liit)  mouth,  aixi  his  hands  in  iiis  pockt'ts,  growling 
fir.-«t  at  h'xA  witt;  and  ciiiUlron,  and  thi:n  at  his  dumb 
creatures. 

I  have  not  tohl  what  l)ecame  of  niv  brothers  and 
sisters.  One  rainy  (hiy,  when  we  were  eijrlit  weciks  old, 
Jenkins,  followed  by  two  or  three  of  hi.s  rairu'cd,  dirty 
children,  camt;  into  thi;  stable  and  looked  at  us.  Then 
he  began  to  swear  because  we  were  so  uirly,  and  said  if 
we  had  been  good-looking,  he  might  have  sold  some  of 
us.  Mother  watelu'd  him  anxiously,  and  fearing  gome 
danger  to  her  puppies,  ran  and  jumped  in  the  middle  of  iiB, 
and  looked  pleadingly  up  at  him. 

It  only  made  him  swear  the  more.  He  took  one  pup 
after  another,  and  right  there,  before  his  children  and  my 
poor  distracted  mother,  put  an  end  to  their  lives.  Some 
of  tlicm  he  seized  by  the  legs  and  knocked  against  the 
stalls,  till  tiieir  brains  were  dashed  out,  others  he  killed 
with  a  fijrk.  It  was  very  terrible.  My  mother  ran  up 
and  down  the  stable,  screaming  with  pain,  and  I  lay 
weak  and  trembling,  and  expecting  every  instant  that 
my  turn  would  come  next.  I  don't  know  why  he  spared 
me.     I  was  the  only  one  left. 

His  children  cried,  and  he  sent  them  out  of  the  stable 
and  went  out  himself.  Mother  picked  up  all  the  puppies 
and  brought  them  to  our  nest  in  the  straw  and  licked 
them,  and  tried  to  bring  them  back  to  life,  but  it  was  of 
no  use.  They  were  quite  dead.  We  had  them  in  our 
corner  of  the  stable  for  some  days,  till  Jenkins  discovered 
them,  and  swearing  horribly  at  us,  he  took  his  stable 
fork  and  threw  them  out  in  the  yard,  and  put  some  earth 
over  them. 

My   mother  never  seemed  the  same  after  this.    She 


ii   I' 


4 


22 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


was  weak  and  miserable,  and  though  she  was  only  four 
years  old,  she  seemed  like  an  old  dog.  This  was  on 
account  of  the  poor  food  she  iiad  been  fed  on.  She 
could  not  run  after  Jenkins,  and  she  lay  on  our  heap  of 
straw,  only  turning  over  with  her  nose  the  scraps  of  food 
I  brought  her  to  eat.  One  day  she  licked  me  gently, 
wagged  her  tail,  and  died. 

As  1  sat  by  her,  feeling  lonely  and  miserable,  Jenkins 
came  into  the  stable.  I  could  not  bear  to  look  at  him. 
He  had  killed  my  mother.  There  she  lay,  a  little,  gaunt, 
scarred  creature,  starved  and  worried  to  death  by  him. 
Her  mouth  was  half  open,  her  eyes  were  staring.  She 
would  never  again  look  kindly  at  me,  or  curl  up  to  me  at 
night  to  keep  me  warm.  Oh,  how  I  hated  her  murderer  I 
But  I  sat  quietly,  even  when  he  went  up  and  lurned  her 
over  with  his  foot  to  see  if  she  was  really  dead.  I  think 
he  was  a  little  sorry,  for  he  turned  scornfully  toward  mo 
and  said,  "she  wa.s  wortli  two  of  you  ;  why  didn't  you  go 
iustiad." 

Still  1  kept  auiet  till  he  walked  up  to  me  and  kicked 
at  mo.  My  heart  was  nearly  broken  and  I  could  stand 
no  more.  I  flew  at  him  and  gave  him  a  savage  bite  ou 
the  ankle. 

"  Oho,"  he  said,  "  so  you  arc  going  to  be  a  figliter,  are 
you?  I'll  fix  you  for  that."  His  face  was  red  and 
furious.  He  seized  me  by  the  back  of  the  neck  and  car- 
ried me  out  to  the  yard  where  a  log  lay  on  the  ground. 
"  Bill,"  he  called  to  one  of  his  children,  "  bring  me  the 
hatchet." 

He  laid  my  liead  on  the  log  and  i)res.sed  one  hand  on 
my  struggling  body.  I  was  now  a  year  old  and  a  full- 
sized  dog.  There  was  a  quick,  dreadful  pain,  and  he  had 
cut  off  my    dr,  not  in  the  way  they  cut  puppies'  ears,  but 


III 


THE  CRUEL   MILKMAN. 


23 


close  to  my  bead,  so  close  that  he  cut  off  some  of  the  skiD 
beyond  it.  Then  he  cut  ofF  the  other  ear,  and  turniug  me 
swiftly  round,  cut  off  my  tail  close  to  my  body. 

Then  he  let  me  go,  and  stood  looking  at  me  as  I  rolled 
on  the  ground  and  yelped  in  agony.  He  was  in  such 
a  passion  that  he  did  not  think  that  people  passing  by  on 
the  road  might  hear  me. 


CHAPTER  III. 


MY    KIND   DELIVKUKR   AND   MISS    LAURA. 


hi   ! 


||HERE  was  a  young  man  going  by  on  a  bicycle. 
He  heard  my  screams,  and  springing  oft"  his 
bicycle,  came  hurrying  up  the  path,  and 
stood  among  us  before  Jenkins  caught  sight  of  him. 

In  the  midst  of  my  pain,  I  heard  him  say  fiercely, 
"  Whiit  have  you  been  doing  to  that  dog?  " 

"  I've  been  cuttin'  his  eai-s  for  nghtin',  my  young  gen- 
tleman," said  Jenkins.  "  Tiiere  is  no  law  to  prevent  that, 
is  there  ?  " 

"  And  there  is  no  law  to  prevent  my  giving  you  a  beat- 
iUg,,"  said  the  young  man,  angrily.  In  a  trice,  he  had 
seized  Jenkins  by  the  throat,  and  was  pounding  him  with 
all  his  might.  Mrs.  Jenkins  came  and  stood  at  the  house 
door,  crying,  but  making  no  effort  to  help  her  husband. 

"  Bring  me  a  towel,"  the  young  man  cried  to  her,  after 
he  ha»'  stretched  Jenkins,  bruised  and  frightened,  on  the 
ground.  She  snatched  oft"  her  apron,  and  ran  down  with 
it,  and  the  young  man  wrapjied  me  in  it,  and  taking  me 
carefully  in  his  arms,  walked  down  the  path  to  the  gate. 
There  were  some  little  boys  standing  there,  watching 
him,  their  mouths  wide  open  with  a^'tonishment.  "S<»nny,"' 
he  said  to  the  largest  of  them,  "  if  you  will  come  behind 
and  carry  this  dog,  I  will  give  you  a  quarter." 

The  boy  took  me,  and  we  set  out.    I  was  all  smothered 

V.I 


ii 


MY    KI>D    DELIVERER   AND    MISS    LAURA, 


20 


up  in  a  clotli,  and  moanini^  with  pain,  l)iit  still  I  looked 
out  ooca.sionally  to  see  wliicli  way  we  wore  ^oin;;.  We 
took  th(!  road  to  tlic  town,  and  stopj)ed  in  front  of  a  house 
on  Wasliin<,'ton  Street.  The  young  man  irned  his  bicy- 
cle up  airainst  the  house,  took  a  (juarter  from  his  pocket 
and  put  it  in  tlie  boy's  hand,  and  liflin<^  me  gently  in  his 
iJ.rms,  went  up  a  lane  leading  to  the  back  of  the  house. 

There  was  a  small  stable  there.  He  went  into  it,  put 
me  down  on  the  floor,  and  uncovered  my  body.  Some 
boys  were  playing  about  the  stable,  and  I  heard  them  say 
in  horrified  tones,  "Oil,  Cousin  Harry,  wliat  is  tlie  matter 
with  that  dog?" 

"  Hush,"  he  said.  "  Don't  make  a  fuss.  You,  Jack, 
go  down  to  the  kitchen,  and  ask  Mary  for  a  bjisin  of 
warm  water  and  a  .«ponge,  and  don't  let  your  mother  or 
Laura  hear  you." 

A  few  minutes  later,  the  yoimg  man  had  bached  my 
bleeding  ears  and  tail,  and  had  rubbed  something  on 
them  that  was  cool  and  pleasant,  and  had  bandaged  them 
firmly  with  strips  of  cotton.  I  felt  much  better,  and  was 
able  to  lo.;!'  about  me. 

I  wiLs  in  a  siuall  stal)le,  that  was  evidently  not  used  for 
a  stable,  but  more  for  a  play  room.  There  were  various 
kir  Is  of  toys  scatter('<l  about,  and  a  swing  and  l)ar,  .-uch 
as  boys  love  to  twist  a'oout  on,  in  two  ditlerent  coriiers. 
In  a  box  against  the  wall,  was  a  guinea  pig  looking  at 
me  in  an  interested  way.  This  guinea  pig's  name  wjis 
Jeff,  and  he  and  I  became  good  friends.  A  long-haired, 
Frc/ich  ral)bu  was  hopping  about;  and  a  tame  white  rat 
was  perched,  on  the  slioulder  of  one  of  the  hii\!>,  and  kept 
his  foothold  there,  no  nuittcr  how  suddenly  the  boy 
moved.  There  were  so  many  boys,  and  the  stable  was  so 
amull,  that  I  sup[K)se  he  was  afraid  he  would  get  stepped 


26 


HEAUTIFUL   JOE. 


on,  if  he  went  on  the  floor.  He  stared  haul  at  me  with 
his  little,  red  eye**,  and  never  even  glanced  at  a  queer- 
looking,  gray  cat  ttiat  was  watcliing  nie  too,  from  her  htd 
in  the  hack  of  tlie  vacant  horse  stall.  Out  in  the  sunny 
yard,  some  pigeons  were  pecking  at  grain,  and  a  spaniel 
lay  asleep  in  a  corner. 

I  had  never  seen  anytliing  like  this  before,  and  my 
v'ondor  at  it  almost  drove  the  pain  away.  Mother  and  I 
always  cliasod  rats  and  birds,  and  once  we  killed  a  kitten. 
While  I  was  puzzling  over  it,  one  of  the  boys  cried  out, 
"  IIe;-e  is  Laura !  " 

"  Take  that  rag  out  of  the  way,"  said  Mr.  Harry,  kick- 
ing aside  the  old  apron  I  had  been  wrapped  in,  and  tiiat 
was  stained  witl\  my  blood.  One  of  the  boys  -tufied  it 
into  a  barrel,  and  then  th^y  all  looked  toward  the  house. 

A  young  girl,  holding  up  one  hand  to  shade  her  eyes 
from  the  sun,  Wiis  coming  up  the  walk  that  led  from  the 
house  to  the  stable.  I  thought  then,  that  I  never  had 
seen  suclj  a  beautiful  girl,  and  I  think  so  still.  She  was 
tall  and  slender,  and  had  lovely  brown  eyes  and  brown 
hair,  and  a  sweet  smile,  and  just  to  look  at  her  was 
enough  to  make  one  love  her.  I  stood  in  the  stable  door, 
staring  at  her  with  all  my  miLht. 

"  Wliy,  wiiat  a  funny  dog,"  she  said,  and  stopped  short 
to  look  at  me.  Up  to  this,  I  had  not  tliought  what  a 
queer-looking  sight  1  must  bo.  Now  I  twisted  around  my 
head,  saw  the  white  bandage  on  my  tail,  and  knowing  I 
was  not  a  fit  sp(-v<cl<>  for  a  pretty  young  lady  like  that,  I 
slunk  into  a  corner. 

"  Poor  doggie,  have  I  hurt  your  feelings  ?  "  she  said, 
and  with  a  sweet  smile  at  tlie  boys,  she  piusscd  by  them, 
and  came  up  to  the  guinea  pig'  box,  behind  which  I 
bad  taken  refuge.     "  What  is  the  niatt<?r  with  your  head, 


MY    KIND   DELIVKREU    AND    MISS   LAURA.        27 


good  dog?"  she  said,   curiously,  as  she  stooped  over 


me. 


"  He  has  a  cold  in  it,"  said  one  of  the  boys  with  a 
laugh,  "so  we  put  a  nightcap  on."  She  drew  l)ack,  and 
turned  very  pale.  "  Cousiu  Harry,  tliere  are  drops  of 
blood  on  tliis  cotton.     Who  has  hurt  this  dog?  " 

"Dear  Laura,"  and  the  young  man  coming  up,  laid 
his  hand  on  her  shoulder,  "  he  got  hurt,  and  I  have  been 
bandaging  him." 

"Who  hurt  him?" 

"  I  had  rather  not  tell  you." 

"  But  I  wish  to  know."  Her  voice  was  as  gentle  as 
ever,  but  she  spoke  so  decidedly  that  the  young  man  was 
obliged  to  tell  her  everything.  All  the  time  he  was 
speaking,  she  kept  touching  me  gently  with  her  fingers. 
When  he  had  finished  his  account  of  rescuing  me  from 
Jenkins,  she  said,  quietly  : 

"You  will  have  the  man  punished?" 

"  What  is  the  use ;  that  won't  slop  him  from  being 
cruel." 

"  It  will  put  a  check  on  his  cruelty." 

•'  I  don't  think  it  would  do  any  good,"  said  the  young 
man,  doggedly. 

"Cousin  Harry!  "and  the  young  girl  stood  up  very 
"traight  and  tall,  her  brown  eyes  flashing,  and  one  hand 
pointing  at  me  ;  "will  you  let  tiiat  pass?  That  animal 
h;is  been  wronged,  it  looks  to  you  to  right  it.  The  coward 
wlu)  hiiH  maimed  it  for  life  should  be  punished.  A 
cliild  has  a  voice  to  tell  its  wrong— a  poor,  dumb  crea- 
ture must  suffer  in  silence ;  in  l)itter,  l)itter  silence. 
And,"  eagerly,  as  the  young  man  tried  to  interrupt  her, 
"  you  are  doing  the  man  hiraself  an  injustice.  If  he  is 
bad  enough  to  ill-treat  his  dog,  he  will  ill-treat  his  wife 


28 


BEAUTIFUL   JOE. 


an(i  children.  If  he  is  checked  and  punished  now  for 
his  cruelty,  he  may  reform.  And  even  if  his  wicked 
heart  is  not  changed,  he  will  be  obliged  to  treat  them 
with  outward  kindness,  through  fear  of  punishment." 

The  young  man  looked  convinced,  and  almost  as 
ashamed  as  if  he  had  been  tiie  one  to  crop  my  ears. 
"What  do  you  want  me  to  do?"  he  said,  slowly,  and 
looking  sheepishly  at  tiie  boys  who  were  staring  open- 
mouthed  at  him  and  the  young  girl. 

The  girl  pulled  a  little  watch  from  her  belt.  "  I  want 
you  to  report  that  man  immediately.  It  is  now  uve 
o'clock.  1  will  go  down  to  the  police  station  with  you, 
if  you  like  " 

"  Very  well,"  he  said,  his  face  brightening.  And  to- 
gether they  went  off  to  the  house. 


I' 


CHAPTER   IV. 


THE   MOKRI8    BOY8   ADD   TO   MY    NAME. 


HE  boys  watched  them  out  of  si^ht.  then  one  of 
them,  whose  name  I  afterward  learned  was 
Jack,  and  wlio  came  next  to  Miss  Laura  in  age, 
gave  a  low  whistle  and  said,  "  Doesn't  the  old  lady  come 
out  strong  when  any  one  or  anything  gets  abused?  Th 
never  forget  the  day  she  found  me  setting  Jim  on  that 
black  cat  of  the  Wilsons.  She  scolded  rae,  and  then  she 
cried,  till  I  didn't  know  where  to  look.  Plague  on  it, 
how  was  I  going  to  know  he'd  kill  the  old  cat?  I  only 
wanted  to  drive  it  out  of  the  yard.  Come  on,  let's  look  at 
the  dog." 

They  all  came  and  bent  over  me,  as  I  lay  on  the  floor 
in  my  corner.  I  wasn't  much  used  to  boys,  and  I  didn't 
know  how  thev  would  treat  mo.  But  I  aoon  found  bv  the 
way  they  handled  me  and  talked  to  me,  that  they  knew 
a  good  deal  about  dogs,  and  were  accustomed  to  treat 
them  kindly.  It  seemed  very  strange  to  have  them  pat 
me,  and  call  me  ''  good  dog."  No  one  had  ever  said  that 
to  me  before  to-day. 

"  He's  not  much  of  a  beauty,  is  he  ?  "  aaid  one  of  the 
boys,  whom  they  called  Tom. 

"Not  by  a  long  shot,"  said  Jack  Morris,  with  a  laugh 
"  Not  any  nearer  the  beauty  mark  than  yourself,  Tom." 

Tom  flew  at  him,  and  they  had  a  scuffle.     The  other 


30 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


}     ' 


hoys  paid  no  attention  to  them,  but  went  on  lookinj»  at 
ine.  One  of  tlieni,  u  little  boy  with  eyes  like  Miss  Laura's, 
said,  "  What  did  Cousin  Harry  say  the  dog's  name  was?  " 

"  Joe,"  answered  another  boy.  "  The  little  chap  that 
carried  him  home,  told  him." 

"  We  might  call  him  '  Ugly  Joe  '  then,"  said  a  lad  with 
a  round,  fat  face,  and  laughing  eyes.  I  wondered  very 
ranch  who  this  l)oy  was,  and,  later  on,  I  found  out  that 
he  was  another  of  Miss  Laura's  brothers,  and  his  name 
was  Ned.     There  s  -emed  to  be  no  end  to  the  ^lorris  boys. 

"I  don't  think  Laura  would  like  that,"  said  Jack 
Morris,  suddenly  coming  up  behind  him.  He  was  very 
hot,  and  was  breathing  fast,  but  his  manner  was  as  cool 
as  if  he  had  never  left  the  group  about  me.  He  had 
beaten  Tom,  who  was  sitting  on  a  box,  ruefully  surveying 
a  hole  in  his  jacket.  "  You  see,''  he  went  on,  gaspingly, 
"  If  you  call  him  'Ugly  Joe,'  her  ladyship  will  say  that 
you  are  wounding  the  dear  dog's  feelings.  'Beautiful 
Joe,'  would  be  more  to  her  liking." 

A  shout  went  up  from  the  boys.  I  didn't  wonder  that 
they  laughed,  riaiii  looking,  I  naturally  was:  but  I 
must  have  boon  huleoiis  in  those  bandages. 

"'Beautiful  Joe,'  then  let  it  be !  "  they  cried.  "  Let  us 
go  and  tell  mother,  and  ask  her  to  give  us  something  for 
our  beauty  to  eat." 

They  all  trooped  out  of  the  stable,  and  I  was  very 
Rorry,  for  when  they  were  with  me,  I  did  not  mind  so 
much  the  tingling  in  my  ears,  and  the  terrible  pain  in 
my  back.  They  soon  brought  nie  some  nice  food,  but  I 
could  not  touch  it;  so  they  went  away  to  their  play,  and  I 
lay  in  the  box  they  put  me  in,  trembling  with  pain,  and 
wishing  that  the  pretty  young  lady  wiis  there,  to  stroke 
me  with  her  gentle  fingers. 


THK   MORRIS    BOYS   ADD  TO   MY    NAME. 


31 


By-and- by  it  got  dark.  The  boya  finished  their  play, 
and  went  into  the  house,  and  I  saw  ii.,'lits  twinklihL'  in 
the  windows.  I  felt  lonely  and  misLTuble  in  this  .stranLje 
place.  I  would  nut  have  gone  back  to  Jenkins'  for  the 
world,  still  it  was  the  only  home  I  had  known,  and  though 
I  felt  that  I  should  be  happy  here,  I  had  not  yet  gotten  used 
to  the  change.  Then  the  pain  all  through  my  body  wua 
dreadful.  My  head  seemed  to  be  on  fire,  and  there  were 
sharp,  darting  pains  up  and  down  my  backbone.  I  did 
not  dare  to  howl,  lest  I  should  make  the  big  dog,  Jim, 
angry.     He  was  sleeping  in  a  kennel,  out  in  the  yard. 

TliC  stable  was  very  (piiet.  Up  in  the  loft  above,  some 
rabbits,  that  I  had  heard  running  about,  had  now  gone  to 
sleep.  The  guinea  pig  was  nestling  in  the  corner  of  hia 
box,  and  the  cat  and  the  tame  rat  had  scampered  into  the 
house  long  ago. 

At  last  I  could  bear  the  pain  no  longer.  I  sat  up  in 
my  box  and  looked  about  me.  I  felt  as  if  1  was  going 
to  die,  and,  though  I  was  very  weak,  there  was  something 
inside  me  that  made  me  feel  as  if  I  wanted  to  crawl 
away  somewhere  out  of  sight.  I  slunk  out  into  the 
yard,  and  along  the  stable  wall,  where  there  was  a  thick 
clump  of  raspberry  bushes.  I  crept  in  among  them  and 
lay  down  in  the  damp  earth.  I  tried  to  scratch  off  my 
bandages,  but  they  were  fastened  on  too  firmly,  and  I 
could  not  do  it.  I  thought  about  my  poor  mother,  and 
wished  she  was  here  to  lick  ray  sore  ears.  Though  she 
was  so  unhappy  herself,  she  never  wanted  to  see  me 
suffer.  If  I  had  not  disobeyed  her,  I  would  not  now  be 
suffering  so  much  pain.  She  had  told  me  again  and 
again  not  to  snap  at  Jenkins,  for  it  made  him  worse. 

In  the  midst  of  my  troul)le  I  heard  a  soft  vtiice  calling, 
"Joe!  Joe!"     It  was  Miss  Laura's  voice,  but  I  felt  as 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


',       li 


if  there  were  wciij^htH  on  my  paws,  and  I  could  not  go  to 
her. 

''Joe!  Joe!  "she  said  a^uiu.  She  was  going  up  the 
walk  to  the  8tal)lc,  holding  up  u  lighted  lamp  in  her 
hand.  She  had  on  a  white  dress,  and  I  watched  her  till 
8iie  diMtpi>earod  in  the  stable.  She  did  not  stay  long  in 
there.  Slie  eame  out  and  stood  on  the  gravel.  "Joe, 
Joe,  Beautiful  Joe,  where  are  you?  You  are  hiding 
somewhere,  but  1  shall  iind  you."  Then  fhe  came  right 
to  the  spot  where  I  v  as.  "  Poor  doggie,"  she  said, 
stooping  down  and  j)atting  me.  "  Are  you  very  misera- 
ble, and  did  you  crawl  away  to  die  ?  I  have  had  dogs  to 
do  that  before,  but  1  am  not  going  to  let  you  die,  Joe." 
And  she  set  her  laiu*"  on  the  ground,  and  took  me  in  her 
arms. 

I  vipz  very  thin  then,  not  nearly  so  fat  ad  I  am  now, 
still  I  was  quite  an  armful  for  her.  But  she  did  not 
seem  to  find  me  heavy.  She  took  me  right  into  the  house, 
through  the  back  door,  and  down  a  long  flight  of  steps, 
across  a  hall,  and  into  a  snug  kitchen. 

"  For  the  land  sakes,  Mits  Laura,"  said  a  woman  who 
was  bending  over  a  stove,  "  what  have  you  got  there?  " 

"  A  poor  sick  dog,  Mary,"  said  Miss  Laura,  seating 
herself  on  a  chair.  "  Will  you  please  warm  a  little  milk 
for  him?  And  have  you  a  box  or  a  basket  down  here 
that  he  can  lie  in?" 

"  1  gufcss  so,"  said  the  woman  ;  "  but  he's  awful  dirty  ; 
you're  not  going  to  let  him  sleep  in  the  house,  are  you  ?  " 

"Only  for  to-night.  He  is  very  ill.  A  dreadful  thing 
happened  to  him,  Mary."  And  Miss  Laura  went  on  to  tell 
lior  how  ray  ears  had  been  cut  off. 

"  Oh,  that's  the  dog  the  boys  were  talking  about,"  said 
the  woman.     "Poor  creature,  he's  welcome  to  all  I  can 


THE   MORRIS   BOYS   ADD  TO   MY    NAME. 


33. 


,  jro  to 

jp  the 
iu  l»cr 
her  till 
long  in 
"Joe, 

hiding 
le  right 
lie  said, 
'  misera- 
i  dogs  to 
lie,  Joe." 
lie  in  her 

aiu  now, 
le  did  not 
the  house, 

of  steps, 

lomau  who 
there?  " 
ra,  seating 
little  milk 
down  here 


do  for  him."  She  opened  a  closet  door,  and  hrought  out 
a  box,  and  folded  a  piece  of  blanket  for  mo  to  lie  on. 
Tlicn  she  lieatcd  some  milk  in  a  saucepan,  and  poured  it 
in  a  saucer,  and  watched  me  while  Misa  Laura  went  up- 
stairs to  get  a  little  bottle  of  something  that  would  make 
nic  sleep.  They  poured  a  few  drops  of  this  medicine  mto 
the  milk  and  offered  it  to  me.  I  lapped  a  little,  but  I 
could  not  finish  it,  even  though  Miss  Laura  coaxed  me 
very  gently  to  do  so.  She  dipped  her  finger  in  the  milk 
and  hpl'.  it  out  to  me,  and  though  I  did  not  want  it,  I 
could  not  be  ungrateful  enough  to  refuse  to  lick  her 
finger  as  ofleu  as  she  offered  it  to  me.  After  the  milk 
wm  gone,  Mary  lifted  up  my  box,  and  carried  me  into  the 
washroom  that  was  off  the  kitchen. 

I  soon  fell  sound  asleep,  and  could  not  rouse  myself 
through  the  night,  even  though  I  both  smelled  and  heard 
some  one  coming  near  me  several  times.  The  next 
morning  I  found  out  that  it  was  Miss  Laura.  Whenever 
there  was  a  sick  animal  in  the  house,  no  matter  if  it  was 
only  the  tame  rat,  she  would  get  up  two  or  three  times  in 
the  night,  to  see  if  there  was  anything  she  could  do  to 
make  it  more  comfortable. 


about,"  saul 
to  all  I  can 


^    ^■''■^ 

mL-^.^^ 

%.>     -y    xfi.:  <^  vj 

».|t  :♦' 

1  ., 


CHAPTER  V. 

MY  NEW  HOME  AND  A  8ELFI8II  LADY. 

DON'T  believe  that  a  dog  could  have  fallen  into 
a  happier  home  than  I  did.  In  a  week,  thanks 
to  <,'<)o(l  niirsint;,  i;ood  food,  and  kind  words,  I 
was  almost  well.  Mr.  Harry  washed  and  dressed  my  sore 
ears  and  tail  every  day  till  he  went  home,  and  one  day, 
he  and  the  boys  gave  me  a  bath  out  in  the  stable.  They 
carried  out  a  tub  of  warm  water  and  stood  me  in  it. 
I  had  never  been  washed  before  iu  my  life,  and  it 
felt  very  queer.  Miss  Laura  stood  by  laughing  and 
encouraging  me  not  to  mind  the  streams  of  water 
trickling  all  over  me.  I  couldn't  help  wondering  what 
Jenkins  would  have  said  if  he  could  have  seen  me  in 
that  tub. 

That  reminds  me  to  say,  that  two  days  after  I  arrived 
at  the  Morrises', Jack,  followed  by  all  the  other  boys, 
caiuc  running  into  the  stable.  He  had  a  newspaper  in 
his  hand,  and  with  a  great  deal  of  laughing  and  joking, 
read  this  to  me  : 

"  Fairport  Daily  News,  June  3rd.  In  the  police  court 
this  morning,  Jainos  Jenkins,  for  cruelly  torturing  and 
mutilating  a  dog,  lined  ten  do'lars  and  costs." 

Then  he  said,  "  What  do  you  think  of  that,  Joe  ?    Five 
dollars  apiece  for  your  ears  and  your  tail  thrown  in 
34 


MY    NKW    HOME   AND    A    fiELFISlI    LADY. 


35 


Icn  into 
,  thanks 
;vord9.  I 
niy  8oro 
>ae  day, 
They 
ae  in  it. 
and    it 
ling  and 
of   water 
ing  what 
en  mc  i" 

I  arrived 
;,her  boys, 
fspapcr  in 
id  joking, 

ilice  court 
taring  and 


Five 
thrown  ia 


loe? 


That's  all  they're  worth  in  the  eyes  of  the  law.  Joiiking 
hiwiial  lii.s  fun  ami  you'll;,'!)  tiiroii^^h  life  worth  iihoutthrfe- 
(juart*  I:*  of  II  (log.  I'd  liwh  rascul.s  like  that.  Tie  them 
tip  and  tlo<,'  them  till  tliey  Wi-re  searred  and  muti- 
hittd  a  little  hit  them.-ielve!».  .Just  wail  till  I'm  prr.«i(lem. 
liut  there's  some  more,  old  fellow.  List«'n  :  '  Our  reporter 
viriited  the  iiousoof  the  ahove- mentioned .jeiikin.s  and  found 
u  most  (ieplorahlo  state  of  affairs.  The  house,  yard,  and  sta- 
ble were  inde.scrihahly  filthy.  His  horse  In-ars  the  marks  of 
ill  usage,  and  is  in  au  emaciated  condition.  His  cows  are 
plastered  up  with  mud  and  filth,  and  are  covered  with 
vermin.  Whore  is  our  liealth  inspector,  that  he  does  not 
exercise  a  more  watchful  supervision  over  estal)lishment.s 
of  this  kind '?  To  allow  milk  frotn  an  unclean  place  like 
this  to  be  sold  in  the  town,  is  enda'^gering  the  health  of 
its  inhabitants.  Upon  inquiry,  it  wa.s  found  that  the 
man  Jenkins  boars  a  very  bad  character.  Steps  are  l)oing 
taken  to  have  his  wife  and  children  removed  from  him.'" 

Jack  threw  the  paper  into  my  box,  and  he  and  the 
other  boys  gave  three  cheers  f(jr  the  Daily  News  and  then 
ran  away.  How  glad  I  was!  It  did  not  nuittcr  so  much 
for  me,  for  I  had  escaped  him,  but  now  that  it  had  Ix-en 
found  out  what  a  cruel  man  he  wsis,  there  would  bo  a 
restraint  upon  him,  and  poor  Toby  and  the  cows  would 
have  a  happier  time. 

I  was  going  to  tell  about  the  Morris  family.  There 
were  Mr.  Morris,  who  was  a  clergyman  and  preached  in 
a  church  in  Fairport ;  Mrs.  Morris,  his  wife;  Miss  Laura, 
who  was  the  eldest  of  the  family;  then  Jack,  Ned,  Carl, 
and  Willie.  I  think  one  reason  why  they  were  such  a 
g.)od  family,  was  because  Mrs.  Morris  was  such  a  good 
woman.  She  loved  her  husband  and  children,  and  did 
everything  she  could  to  make  them  happy. 


36 


BEAUTIFUL   JOE. 


Mr.  Morris  was  a  very  hiisy  man  and  rarely  inter- 
fered in  hoiiselioUi  afTairs.  Mrs.  Morris  was  tne  one  who 
Fiiid  what  was  to  be  clone  and  what  waa  not  to  be  done. 
Even  then,  when  1  wjis  a  young  dog,  I  used  to  think  that 
she  was  very  wise.  There  was  never  any  noise  or  confu- 
sion in  the  house,  and  though  there  was  a  great  deal  of 
work  to  be  done,  everything  went  on  smoothly  and  pleas- 
antly, and  no  one  ever  got  angry  and  scolded  as  they 
did  in  the  Jenkins  family. 

Mrs.  Morris  was  very  particular  about  money  matters. 
Whenever  the  boys  came  to  her  for  money  to  get  such 
things  a:;'  candy  and  ice  cream,  expensive  toys,  and  other 
things  that  boys  often  crave,  she  asked  thera  why  they 
wanted  them.  If  it  was  for  some  selfish  reason,  she  said, 
firmly  •  "  No,  my  children,  we  are  not  rich  people,  and  we 
must  save  our  money  for  your  education.  I  cannot  buy 
you  foolish  things." 

If  they  asked  her  for  money  for  books  or  something  to 
make  their  pet  animals  more  comfortable,  or  for  their 
outdoor  games,  she  gave  it  to  them  willingly.  Her  ideas 
about  the  bringing  up  of  children  I  cannot  explain  as 
clearly  as  she  can  herself,  so  I  will  give  part  of  a  conver- 
sation that  she  had  with  a  lady  who  was  calling  on  her 
shortly  after  I  came  to  Washington  Street. 

I  happened  to  be  in  the  house  at  the  time.  Indeed,  I 
used  to  spend  the  greater  part  of  my  time  in  the  house. 
lack  one  di'.y  looked  at  me,  and  exclaimed  :  "  Why  docs 
that  'log  stalk  about,  first  after  one  and  then  after  another, 
looking  at  ;:s  with  such  solemn  eyes?" 

I  wished  that  I  could  speak  to  tell  him  that  I  had  so 
long  been  used  to  seeing  animals  kicked  about  and  trod- 
den upon,  that  I  could  not  get  used  to  the  change.  It 
Heemed  too  good  to  be  true.     I  could  scarcely  bchevc  that 


MY   NEW   HOME  AND  A   SELFISH    LADY. 


37 


itcr- 
who 
lone, 
that 
onfa- 
ll of 
pleaa- 
,  they 

attere. 
t  sucli 
I  other 
y  they 
ic  said, 
and  we 
lot  buy 

,hing  to 
their 
idea3 
ilain  as 
conver- 
on  her 

ndecd,  I 
house, 
by  does 
another, 

had  so 
ind  trod- 


cr 


mge. 


It 


lieve  that 


dumb  animals  had  rights ;  but  while  it  lasted,  and  human 
beings  were  so  kind  to  nic,  I  wanted  to  be  with  them  all 
tiie  time.  Miss  Laura  understood.  She  drew  my  head 
up  to  her  lap,  and  put  her  face  down  to  me :  "  You  like 
to  be  with  us,  don't  you,  Joe?  Stay  in  the  house  as  much 
as  you  like.  Jack  doesn't  mind,  though  he  speaks  so 
sharply.  When  you  got  tired  of  us  go  out  in  the  garden 
and  have  a  romp  with  Jim." 

But  I  must  return  to  the  conversation  I  referred  to.  It 
was  one  tine  June  day,  and  Mrs.  Morris  was  sewing  in  a 
rocking-chair  by  the  window.  I  was  beside  her,  sitting 
on  a  hassock,  so  that  I  could  look  out  into  the  street. 
Dogs  love  variety  and  excitement,  and  like  to  see  what  is 
going  on  outdoors  as  well  as  human  beings.  A  carriage 
drove  up  to  the  door,  and  a  finely  dressed  lady  got  out  and 
came  up  the  steps. 

Mrs.  Morris  seemed"  glad  to  see  her,  and  called  her  Mrs. 
Montague.  I  was  pleased  with  her,  for  she  had  some 
kind  of  perfume  about  her  that  I  liked  to  smell.  So  I 
went  and  sat  on  the  hearth  rug  quite  near  her. 

They  had  a  little  talk  about  things  I  did  not  under- 
stand, and  then  the  lady's  eyes  fell  on  me.  She  looked 
at  me  through  a  bit  of  glass  that  was  hanging  by  a  chain 
fronj  her  neck,  and  pulled  away  her  beautiful  dress  lest  I 
should  touch  it. 

I  did  not  care  any  longer  for  the  perfume,  and  went 
away  and  sat  very  straight  and  stiff  at  Mrs.  Morns' 
feet.     The  lady's  eyes  still  followed  me. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Mrs.  Morris,"  she  said  ;  "  but  that 
is  a  very  queer-looking  dog  you  have  there." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Morri.«>,  quietly ;  "  he  is  not  a  handsome 
dog." 

"And  he  is  a  new  one,  isn't  he  ? "  said  Mrs.  Montague. 


38 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


"  Yes." 

"Ami  that  makes - 


•'  Two  dogs,  a  cat,  fiftQcn  or  twenty  rabbits,  a  rat,  about 
a  dozen  canaries,  and  two  dozen  goldfish,  I  don't  know 
how  many  pigeons,  a  few  bantams,  a  guinea  pig,  and — 
well,  1  don't  thiuTc  there  is  anything  more." 

They  both  laughed,  and  Mrs.  Montague  said :  "  You 
have  quite  a  menagerie.  My  father  would  never  allow 
one  of  his  children  to  keep  a  pet  animal.  He  said  it 
would  make  his  girls  rough  and  noisy  to  romp  about  the 
house  with  cats,  and  his  boys  would  look  like  rowdies  if 
thev  went  about  with  dogs  at  their  heels." 

"  I  have  never  found  that  it  made  my  children  more 
rough  to  play  with  their  pets,"  said  Mrs.  Morris. 

"  No,  I  should  think  not,"  said  the  lady,  languidly. 
"  Your  boys  are  the  most  gentlemanly  lads  in  Fairport, 
and  as  for  Laura,  she  is  a  perfect  little  lady.  I  like  so 
much  to  have  them  come  and  see  Charlie.  They  wake 
him  up,  and  yet  don't  make  him  naughty." 

"Tiiey  enjoyed  tlieir  last  visit  very  much,"  said  Mrs. 
Morris.  "  Bv  the  wav,  I  have  heard  them  talking  about 
getting  Charlie  a  dog." 

"  Oh,"  cried  the  lady,  with  a  little  shudder,  "  beg  them 
not  to.     I  cannot  sanction  that.     I  hate  dogs." 

"  Why  do  you  hate  them  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Morris,  gently. 

"  They  are  such  dirty  things  ;  they  always  smell  and 
have  vermin  on  them." 

"  A  d(  g,"  said  Mrs.  Morris,  "is something  like  a  child. 
If  you  want  it  clean  and  pleasant,  you  have  got  to  keep  it 
so.  This  dog's  skin  is  as  clean  as  yours  or  mine.  Hold 
still,  Joe,"  aud  she  brushed  the  hair  on  my  back  the 
wrong  way,  aud  showed  Mrs.  Montague  how  pink  aud 
free  from  dust  mv  skin  was. 


MV     NKW    HOME    AND   A    SELFISH    LADY. 


39 


;them 

!;ently. 
and 

child, 
keep  it 

Hold 
ck  tho 
ik  aud 


Mrs.  Moutaj,'ue  lookcMl  iit  me  more  kindly,  and  even 
held  out  -he  tips  of  her  lingers  to  me.  I  did  not  lick 
them.  I  only  smellcd  them,  and  she  drew  her  hand  back 
again. 

"  You  have  never  been  brouglit  in  coiitaet  with  the 
lower  crcati(jn  as  I  have,"  said  Mr.s.  Morri-s;  "ju.stlotme 
tell  you,  in  a  lew  wordn,  what  a  help  dumb  aninud.s  have 
been  to  me  in  the  up-bringing  of  my  ciiildren — my  boys, 
especially.  AVlien  I  was  a  young  married  woman,  going 
about  the  slums  of  New  York  with  my  hu3l)and,  I  used 
to  come  home  and  look  at  my  two  bal)ies  as  they  lay  in 
their  little  cots,  and  say  to  him,  '  Wiiut  are  wo  going  to 
do  to  keep  these  children  fnjni  scHishness — tiie  curse  of 
the  world  ? ' 

" '  Get  them  to  do  something  for  somebody  outside 
themselves,'  he  always  said.  And  I  have  tried  to  act  on 
that  principle.  Laura  Ls  naturally  unselfish.  With  her 
tiny,  baby  fuigers,  she  would  take  food  from  her  own 
mouth  and  put  it  into  Jack's,  if  we  did  not  watch  her.  I 
have  never  liail  any  troul)le  with  her.  l>ut  tlie  l)oys  were 
born  seliish,  tiresomely,  disgustingly  selfisli.  They  were 
good  boys  in  many  ways.  As  they  grew  older,  they  were 
respectful,  obedient,  they  were  not  untidy,  and  not  partic- 
ularly rough,  but  their  one  thought  was  for  tiiemselves — 
each  one  for  himself,  and  they  used  to  quarrel  with  each 
other  in  regard  to  their  riglits.  While  we  were  in  New 
York,  we  had  only  a  small,  back  yard.  When  we  came 
here,  1  said, '  1  am  going  to  try  an  experiment.'  We  got 
this  house  because  it  had  a  large  garden,  and  a  stable 
that  would  do  for  the  boys  to  play  in.  Then  I  got  them 
togctlier,  and  had  a  little  si^fious  talk.  I  said  I  was  not 
pleased  with  the  way  in  which  they  were  living.  They 
did  nothing  for  any  one  but  themselves  I'rom  morning  to 


40 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


night.  If  I  asked  them  to  do  an  errand  for  roe,  it  was 
done  unwillingly.  Of  course,  I  knew  they  had  their 
school  for  a  par*,  of  the  day,  but  they  had  a  good  deal  of 
leisure  time  when  they  might  do  something  for  some  one 
else.  I  asked  them  if  they  thought  they  were  going  to 
make  reai,  manly,  Christian  boys  at  this  rate,  and  they 
said  no.  Then  I  asked  them  what  we  should  do  about  it. 
They  all  said,  '  You  tell  us  mother,  and  we'll  do  as  you 
say.'  I  proposed  a  series  of  tasks.  Each  one  to  do  some- 
thing for  somebody,  outside  and  apart  from  himself,  every 
day  of  his  life.  They  all  agreed  to  this,  and  told  me  to 
allot  the  taaka.  If  I  could  have  afforded  it,  I  would  have 
gotten  a  horse  and  cow,  and  had  them  take  charge  of 
them ;  but  I  could  not  do  that,  so  I  invested  in  a  pair  of 
rabbits  for  Jack,  u  pair  of  canaries  for  Carl,  pigeons  for 
Ned,  and  bantams  for  Willie.  I  brought  these  creatures 
home,  put  them  into  their  hands,  and  told  them  to  pro- 
vide for  them.  They  were  delighted  with  my  choice,  and 
it  was  very  amusing  to  see  them  scurrying  about  to  pro- 
vide food  and  shelter  for  their  pets,  and  hear  their  con- 
sultations with  other  boys.  The  end  of  it  all  is,  that  I 
am  perfectly  satisfied  with  my  experiment.  My  boys, 
in  caring  for  these  dumb  creatures,  have  become  unselfislj 
and  thoughtful.  They  had  rather  go  to  school  without 
their  own  breakfast,  than  have  the  inmates  of  the  stable 
go  hungry.  They  are  getting  a  humane  education,  a  heart 
education,  added  to  the  intellectual  education  of  their 
Bchoob.  Then  it  keeps  them  at  home.  I  used  to  be 
worried  with  the  lingering  about  street  corners,  the  dawd- 
ling around  with  other  boys,  and  the  idle,  often  worse  than 
idle  talk,  indulged  in.  Now  they  have  something  to  do, 
they  are  men  of  business.  They  are  always  hammering 
and  pounding  at  boxes  and  partitions  out  there  in  the  stable, 


i; 


MY   NEW    HOME   AND  A   SELFIHII    LADY. 


41 


or  cleaning  up,  and  if  .^hej  are  sent  out  on  an  crrrnd,  they 
do  it  and  come  right  home.  I  don't  mean  to  say  .  hat  wo 
have  deprived  them  of  liberty.  They  have  their  days  for 
base  ball,  and  foot  ball,  and  excursions  to  the  wood^,  but 
they  have  so  much  to  do  at  home,  that  they  won't  go 
away  unless  for  a  specific  purpose." 

While  Mrs.  Morris  was  taliiiug,  her  visitor  leaned  for- 
ward in  her  chair,  and  listened  attentively.  When  she 
finished,  Mrs.  Montague  said,  quietly,  "Thank  you,  I 
am  glad  that  you  told  me  this.  I  shall  get  Charlie  a 
dog." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,"  replied  Mrs.  Morris. 
"  It  will  be  a  good  thing  for  your  little  boy.  I  should 
not  wisL  my  boys  to  be  without  a  good,  faithful  dog.  A 
•child  can  learn  many  a  lesson  from  a  dog.  This  one," 
pointing  to  me,  "might  be  held  up  as  an  example  to 
many  a  human  being.  He  is  patient,  quiet,  and  obedient. 
My  husband  says  that  he  reminds  him  of  three  wmis  in 
the  Bible — '  through  much  tribulation.' " 

"  Why  does  he  say  that? "  asked  Mrs.  Montague,  curi- 
ously. 

"  Because  he  came  to  us  from  a  very  unhappy  home." 
And  Mrs.  Morris  went  on  to  tell  her  friend  what  she 
knew  of  ray  early  days. 

When  she  stopped,  Mrs.  Montague's  face  was  shocked 
and  pained.  "  How  dreadful  to  think  that  there  are  such 
creatures  as  thot  man  Jenkins  in  the  world.  And  you 
say  that  he  has  a  wife  and  children.  Mrs.  Morris,  tell 
me  plamly,  are  there  many  such  unhappy  homes  in  Fair- 
port?" 

Mrs.  Morris  hesitated  for  a  minute,  then  she  said,  earn- 
estly :  "  My  dear  friend,  if  you  could  see  all  the  wicked- 
ness, and  cruelty,  and  vileness,  that  is  practised  in  this 


42 


BEAIIIFUL   JOE. 


i  I 


little  town  of  ours  in  ono  night,  you  could  not  rest  in 
your  bed." 

Mrs.  Montague  looked  dazed.  "  I  did  not  dream  that 
!t  wa.s  :i8  bad  a.s  that,"  she  said.  "  Are  we  worse  than 
other  towa«  ?  " 

"  No ;  not  worse,  hut  bad  enough.  Over  and  over 
again  tlie  saying  is  true,  one  half  the  world  does  not 
know  how  the  other  half  lives.  How  can  all  this  misery 
touch  you?  You  live  in  your  lovely  house  out  of  t'ch 
town.  When  you  come  in,  you  drive  about,  do  your 
shopping,  make  calls,  and  go  home  again.  You  never 
visit  the  poorer  streets.  The  people  from  them  never 
come  to  you.  You  are  rich,  your  people  before  you  were 
rich,  you  live  in  a  state  of  isolation." 

"  But  that  is  not  right,"  said  the  lady,  in  a  wailing- 
voice.  "  1  iiave  been  thinking  about  this  matter  lately. 
I  read  a  great  deal  in  the  papers  ab6ut  the  misery  of  the 
lower  classes,  and  I  think  we  richer  ones  ought  to  do 
something  to  help  them.  Mrs.  Morris,  what  can  I 
do?" 

The  tears  came  in  Mrs.  Morris'  eyes.  She  looked  at 
the  little,  frail  lady,  and  said,  simply :  "  Dear  Mrs.  Mon- 
tague, I  think  the  root  of  the  whole  matter  lies  in  this. 
The  Lord  made  us  all  one  family.  We  are  all  brothers 
and  sisters.  The  lowest  woman  is  your  sister  and  Ui^ 
sister.  Tlie  man  lying  in  the  gutter  is  our  brother.  What 
should  we  do  to  help  these  members  of  our  common  fam- 
ily, who  are  not  as  well  oti'as  we  are?  We  should  share 
our  last  crust  with  them.  You  and  I,  but  for  God's 
grace  in  placing  us  in  diHerent  surroundings,  might  be 
in  their  places.  I  think  it  is  wicked  neglect,  criminal 
neglect  iii  i.d  to  ignore  this  fact." 

"  It  is,  it  !^,"  aaid  Mrs.  Montague,  in  a  despairing  voice. 


MY    NEW    HOMK    AM)    A    SF.I.Fr-II    I.ADY 


4.1 


^I  can't  help  feeling  it.  Tell  me  soinctlimg  1  can  do  to 
help  sonic  one.' 

Mrs.  Morris  sank  back  in  her  chair,  her  face  very  sad, 
and  yet  with  something  like  plcusure  in  her  eyes  as  shfi 
looked  at  her  caller.  "  Your  washerwoman,"  she  said, 
"  has  a  drunken  hushand  and  a  cripple  boy.  I  have 
often  seen  her  standing  over  her  tub,  washing  your  deli- 
cate muslins  and  lace.-',  and  dropj)iiig  tear.s  into  the 
water." 

"  1  will  never  send  her  anything  more — she  shall  not 
be  troubled,"  said  Mrs.  Montague,  hastily. 

Mrs.  Morns  could  not  help  smiling  "  I  have  not  made 
myself  clear.  It  is  not  the  washing  that  troubles  her.  it 
is  her  husband  wlio  l)eat3  her,  and  her  boy  who  worries 
her.  If  you  and  I  take  our  work  from  her,  she  will  have 
that  much  less  money  to  depend  upon,  and  will  swlfer  in 
consequence  She  is  a  hard-working  and  capable  woman, 
and  makes  a  fair  living.  I  would  not  advise  you  to  give 
her  money,  for  her  husband  would  tind  it  out,  and  take  it 
froia  her.  It  is  sympathy  that  she  wants  If  you  could 
visit  her  occasionally,  and  show  that  you  are  interested 
in  her,  by  talking  or  reading  to  her  poor  fooli-sh  boy  or 
showing  him  a  picture-book,  you  have  no  idea  how  grate- 
ful she  would  be  to  you,  and  how  it  would  cheer  her  on 
her  dreary  way." 

"  I  will  go  to  see  her  to-morrow,"  said  Mrs.  Montague. 
"Can  you  think  of  any  one  else  I  could  vi.sit." 

"A  great  many,"  said  Mrs.  Morri.-;,  "but  I  don't  think 
you  had  better  undertake  too  much  at  once.  I  will  give 
you  the  addresses  of  three  or  four  \>;>r  families,  whore  an 
occasional  visit  would  do  untold  good.  That  is,  it 
will  do  them  good  if  you  treat  them  as  you  do  youi 
richer  friends.  Don't  give  them  too  much  money,  or  too 


i 


ir< 


U 


44 


IlKAI'TIFUl.    JOE. 


many  presents,  till  you  fin<l  out  what  they  need.  Try  to 
feci  interested  in  tlieni.  I'ind  out  their  waji  of  living, 
and  what  they  are  going  tt«  do  with  their  children,  and 
help  them  to  get  situations  for  them  if  you  can.  And  be 
sure  to  remember  that  poverty  does  not  always  take 
away  one's  self-respect." 

"  I  will,  I  will,"  said  Mrs.  Montague,  eagerly.  "  When 
can  you  give  me  tliesc  addresses? " 

Mrs.  Morris  smiled  again,  and,  taking  a  piece  of  paper 
and  a  pencil  from  her  work  basket,  wrote  a  few  lines  and 
handed  them  to  Mrs.  Montague. 

The  lady  got  up  to  take  her  leave.  "  And  in  regard 
to  the  dog,"  said  Mrs.  Morris,  following  her  to  the  door, 
"  if  you  decide  to  allow  Charlie  to  have  one,  you  had 
better  let  him  come  in  and  have  a  talk  with  my  boys 
about  it.  They  seem  to  know  all  the  dogs  that  are  for 
sale  in  the  town.' 

"Thank  you,  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  do  so.  He 
shall  have  his  dog.     When  can  you  have  him?  " 

"  To-morrow,  the  next  day,  any  day  at  all.  It  makes 
no  difference  to  me.  Let  him  spend  an  afternoon  and 
evening  with  the  boys,  if  you  do  not  object." 

"  It  will  give  me  much  pleasure,"  and  the  little  lady 
bowed  and  smiled,  and  after  stooping  down  to  pat  me, 
tripped  down  the  steps,  and  got  into  her  carriage  and 
drove  away. 

Mrs.  Morris  stood  looking  after  her  with  a  beaming 
face,  and  I  began  to  think  that  I  should  like  Mrs.  Mon- 
tague too,  if  I  knew  her  long  enough.  Two  days  later 
I  was  quite  sure  I  should,  for  J  had  a  proof  that  she 
really  liked  me.  When  her  little  boy  Charlie  came  to  the 
house,  he  brought  something  for  me  done  up  in  white 
paper.    Mrs.  Morris  opened  it ,  and  there  was  a  hand- 


MV    NEW    HOME   AND   A   SELFISH    LADY. 


45 


some,  nickel-plated  collar,  with  my  name  on  it — Beautiful 
Joe.  Wasn't  I  Tijcased  !  They  took  olF  the  little  ehnhhy 
leather  strap  t  ,a  the  hoys  had  given  me  when  I  came, 
and  fastened  on  my  new  collar,  and  then  Mrs.  Morris 
held  me  up  to  a  glass  to  look  at  myself.  1  felt  so  happy. 
Up  to  this  tini"  1  had  felt  a  little  ashamed  of  my  cropped 
cars  and  docked  tail,  but  now  that  1  had  a  fine  new  col- 
lar I  could  hold  up  my  head  with  any  dog. 

"  Dear  old  Joe,"  said  Mrs.  Morris,  pressing  my  head 
tightly  between  her  hands.  "  You  did  a  good  thing  the 
other  day  in  helping  me  to  start  that  little  woman  out 
of  her  selfish  way  of  living." 

1  did  not  know  about  that,  but  I  knew  that  I  felt  very 
grateful  to  Mrs.  Montague  for  my  new  collar,  and  ever 
afterward,  when  I  met  her  in  the  street,  I  stopped  and 
looked  at  her.  Sometimes  she  saw  me  and  stopped  her 
carriage  to  speak  to  me ;  but  I  always  wagged  my  tail,  or 
rather  my  body,  for  I  had  no  tail  to  wag,  whenever  I  saw 
her,  whether  she  saw  me  or  not. 

Her  son  got  a  beautiful  Irish  setter,  called  "  Brisk."  He 
had  a  silky  coat  and  soft  brown  eyes,  and  his  young  mas- 
ter seemed  very  fond  of  him. 


i  ; 


CHAPTER  VI. 


THE    FOX   TEUUIER    niM.Y. 


!    ) 

r 


M 


i     ■ 


i|i 


flEN  I  came  to  the  Morrisea,  I  knew  nothing 
about  the  proper  way  of  bringing  up  a  puppy. 
I  once  lieard  of  a  little  boy  whose  sister  beat 
him  so  much,  that  he  said  he  was  brought  up  by  hand  ;  so 
I  think  as  Jenkins  kicked  me  so  much,  I  may  say  that  I 
was  brought  up  by  foot. 

Shortly  after  my  arrival  in  my  new  home,  I  had  a 
chance  of  seeing  h..  v  one  should  bring  up  a  little  puppy. 

One  day  I  was  sitting  beside  Miss  Laura  in  the  parlor, 
when  the  door  opened,  and  Jack  came  in.  One  of  his 
hands  was  laid  over  the  other,  and  he  said  to  hia  sister, 
"Guesij  what  I've  got  here?" 

"  A  bird,"  she  said. 

"  No." 

"  A  rat." 

"No." 

"  A  mouse." 

"  No — a  pup." 

"  Oh,  Jack,"  she  said,  reprovingly ;  for  she  thought  he 
was  telling  a  storv. 

He  opened  his  hands,  and  there  lay  the  tiniest  monsol 

of  a  fox  terrier  puppy  that  I  tver  saw.     He  was  white, 

with   black   and   tan   markings.      His  body  was   pure 

white,   his  tail   black,   with   a  dash  of  tan ;    his  ears 

46 


TIIK    Ff)X    TKUUIKU    IlI^LY. 


47 


binrk,  and  hi?  face  evenly  ninrked  with  black  nnd  tnn. 
We  could  not  tell  the  iH)lor  of  his  eycH.  aa  they  were  not 
oj)en.  Later  on,  they  turned  out  to  1)C  a  pretty  hrown. 
His  nose  was  pale  pink,  and  when  he  got  older,  it  hecanio 
jet  black. 

"Why,  Jack!"  exclaimed  Misa  Laura,  "his  eyes 
aren't  open;  why  did  y(tu  take  him  from  his  mother?" 

"She's  dead,"  said  Jack.  "  Poisoned — left  her  pups  to 
run  about  the  yard  for  a  little  exercise.  Some  brute  had 
thrown  over  a  piece  of  poisoned  meat,  and  she  ate  it. 
Four  of  the  pups  died.  This  is  the  only  one  left.  Mr. 
Robinson  says  his  man  doesn't  understand  raising  pupa 
without  their  mothers,  and  as  he's  going  away,  lie  wants 
us  to  have  it,  f«)r  we  always  had  such  luck  iu  nursing  sick 
animals." 

Mr.  Robinson  I  knew  was  a  friend  of  the  Morrises,  and  a 
gentleman  who  was  fond  of  fancy  stock,  and  imported  a 
great  deal  of  it  from  England.  If  this  puppy  came  from 
him,  it  was  sure  to  be  a  good  one. 

Miss  I<aura  took  the  tiny  creature,  and  went  upstairs 
very  thoughtfully.  I  followed  her,  and  watched  her  get 
a  little  basket  and  line  it  with  cotton  wool.  She  put  the 
puppy  in  it,  and  looked  at  him.  Tiiough  it  was  midsum- 
mer, and  the  house  seemed  very  warm  to  me,  the  little 
creature  was  shivering,  and  making  a  low,  murmuring 
noise.  She  pulled  the  wool  all  over  him,  and  put  the 
window  down,  and  set  his  basket  in  the  sun. 

Then  she  went  to  the  kitclien  and  got  some  warm  milk. 
She  dipped  her  finger  in  it,  and  offered,  it  to  the  puppy, 
but  he  went  nosing  about  in  a  stupid  way,  and  wouldn't 
touch  it.  "  Too  young,"  Mi.ss  Laura  said.  She  got  a  Iktle 
piece  of  muslin,  put  some  Jjread  in  it,  tied  a  .string  round 
it,  and  dipped  it  in  the  milk.     When  she  put  this  to  the 


i 


if! 

I  s  :  ( 

'I 

i'i 


I''    •  i 


48 


HKAUTIFUI.  JOE. 


puppy's  mouth,  he  sucked  it  greedily.  He  acted  as  if 
lie  was  starving,  but  Mi^s  Laura  only  let  him  have  a 
little. 

Every  few  hours  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  she  gave  him 
some  more  milk,  and  I  heard  the  hoys  say  that  for  many 
nights  she  got  up  once  or  twice  and  heated  milk  over  a 
lamp  for  him.  One  night  the  milk  got  cold  before  ho 
took  it,  and  he  swelled  up  and  became  so  ill  that  Miss 
Laura  hud  to  rouse  her  mother  and  get  some  hot  water 
to  plunge  him  in.  That  made  him  well  again,  and  no  ouo 
Bccmcd  to  think  it  wa.^  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  take  for 
a  creature  that  was  nothing  but  a  dog. 

He  fully  repaid  them  for  all  this  care,  for  he  turned 
out  to  be  one  of  the  prettiest  and  most  lovable  dogs  that 
I  ever  saw.  They  called  him  Billy,  and  the  two  events 
of  his  early  life  were  the  opening  of  his  eyes,  and  the 
swallowing  of  his  muslin  rag.  The  rag  did  not  seem  to 
hurt  him ;  but  Miss  Laura  said  that,  as  he  had  got  so 
strong  and  so  greedy,  he  must  learn  to  eat  like  other 
do^'s. 

He  was  very  amusing  when  he  was  a  puppy.  He  was 
lull  of  tricks,  and  he  crept  about  in  a  mischievous  way 
when  one  did  not  know  he  was  near.  He  was  a  very 
small  puppy,  and  used  to  climb  inside  Miss  Laura's 
Jersey  sleeve  up  to  her  shoulder  when  he  was  six  weeks 
old.  One  day,  when  the  whole  family  was  in  the  parlor, 
Mr.  Morris  suddenly  flung  aside  his  newspaper,  and 
began  jumping  up  and  down.  Mrs.  Morris  was  very 
much  alarmed,  and  cried  out,  "  My  dear  William,  what  is 
the  matter. 

"  There's  a  rat  up  my  leg,"  he  said,  shaking  it  violently. 
Just  then  little  Billy  fell  out  on  the  floor  and  lay  on  his 
back  looking  up  at  Mr.  Morris  with  a  surprised  face.    He 


TIIF,  FV>X  TF.nniF.U   nii.i.v. 


40 


lently. 

on  bis 

■e.    He 


had  felt  ckM  aiiil  thought  it  would  Itc  warm  iu.«»i(lo  Mr. 
Morris'  trousor'g  Icj;. 

Howt'vcr,  IJilly  lU'ViT  did  any  real  niiscliitf,  tliauks  Vt 
Miss  Laura's  traiiiin;^.  She  Ik '.'an  to  puuisli  lutn  Ju.->t  m 
Boon  iw  lie  Ix'u'an  to  toar  anil  worry  things.  'I'lio  first 
thing  he  attaoivcd  wits  Mr.  Morris'  felt  hat.  The  wind 
blew  It  down  the  hall  one  day,  and  Hilly  came  along  and 
began  to  try  it  with  lii.s  tiTtli.  I  dare  say  it  felt  good  to 
them,  for  a  puppy  is  \cry  like  a  l)al)y  and  lovea  Some- 
thing to  bite. 

Mis.s  Laura  found  him,  and  he  rolled  his  eyes  at  hor 
quite  innoeeiitly,  not  knowing  that  he  w:u  doing  wrong. 
She  took  tlie  hat  away,  and  pointing  from  it  to  him,  said, 
"  bad  liilly."  Then  she  gave  him  two  or  three  8lap.s 
with  a  bootlace.  She  never  struck  a  little  dog  with  her 
hand  or  a  stick.  She  said  clubs  were  for  big  dogs  and 
switches  for  little  dogs,  if  one  luul  to  use  them.  The  best 
way  was  to  scold  them,  for  a  good  dog  feels  a  severe 
scolding  OS  much  iis  a  whipping. 

Billy  was  very  much  ashamed  of  himself.  Nothing 
would  induce  him  even  to  look  at  a  hat  again.  But  liQ 
thought  it  was  no  harm  to  worry  other  things.  IIo 
attacked  one  thing  aftgr  another,  the  rugs  on  the  floor, 
curtains,  anything  (lying  or  fluttering,  and  Miss  Laura 
patiently  scolded  him  for  each  one,  till  at  last,  it  dawned 
upon  him  that  he  must  not  worry  anything  but  a  bone. 
Then  he  got  to  be  a  very  good  dog. 

There  was  one  thing  that  Miss  Laura  was  very  particular 
about,  and  that  was  to  have  him  fed  regularly.  We 
both  got  three  meals  a  day.  We  were  never  allowed  to 
go  into  the  dining  room,  and  while  the  family  was  at  the 
table,  we  lay  in  the  hall  outside  and  watched  what  waa 
going  CD. 


50 


nEAUriFUI,   JOE. 


Dotrs  take  a  ^rroat  interest  in  what  any  one  gets  to  oat 
It  wiv*  finite  (  xcitirifi  to  see  the  ^^)rrI^^es  passiiiLj  caeii 
oth(  r  (lillbroiit  dishes,  ami  to  <rnell  the  iiicv,  hot  food 
IJilly  often  wislied  that  he  eoidd  get  tip  on  the  tahle.  Mo 
.«aid  that  he  would  make  things  fly.  When  he  wiis 
growing,  he  liardly  ever  got  enoug')  to  eat.  I  used  to  tell 
liim  that  lie  would  kill  hirnseli  a'  he  could  eat  all  he 
wanted  to. 

As  S(ion  33  meals  were  over,  Billy  and  I  scampered 
after  Miss  Laura  to  the  kitchen.  We  each  had  his  own 
nlate  for  foo<l.  Mary  t!ie  coik  often  laughed  at  Mi.«3 
i  auia,  because  she  would  not  let  her  dogs  "dish" 
t<  get  her  Mkss  Laura  Faid  that  if  she  did,  the  larger 
o.ie  would  get  more  than  liis  share  and  the  little  one 
would  starve. 

It  was  (|uite  a  sight  to  sec  Billy  cat,  lie  sprcud  his 
legs  apart  to  steady  himself,  aii<l  gobbled  at  his  food  like 
a  duck  When  he  finished  he  always  looked  up  for 
more,  and  Miss  Laura  would  shake  her  head  and  say: 
"No,  Billy,  better  longing  than  loathing.  I  believe  that 
a  great  many  little  dogs  arc  killed  by  over-feeding." 

1  often  heard  the  Morrises  speak  of  the  foolish  way  in 
which  some  peojjie  stuiTed  their  pets  with  food,  and  either 
kill  them  by  it  or  keep  them  in  continual  ill  health.  .\ 
case  occurred  in  our  neigiiborhood  while  Billy  was  a 
|)uppy.  Some  people,  called  Dobson,  who  lived  only  a 
few  doors  from  the  Morrises,  bad  a  fine  bay  mare  and  a 
little  colt  called  Sam  They  were  very  proud  of  this 
colt,  and  Mr  Dobson  had  promised  it  to  his  son  James. 
One  day  Mr.  Dobson  asked  Mr.  Morris  to  .^ome  in  and  see 
tiie  colt,  and  I  wont  too.  I  watched  Mr.  Morris  while  he 
examined  it.  It  was  a  pretty  little  creature,  and  I  did 
not  wonder  tlutt  they  thought  so  much  of  it. 


THF    FOX    TERRIF.n    BILLY. 


51 


When  Mr.  Morris  went  home  his  wife  asked  him  what 
he  thought  of  it. 

"  I  think, "  ho  said,  "that  it  won't  live  long." 

"  Why,  papa!  "  oxchiiincd  Jack,  who  overheard  the  re- 
mark, "  it  is  !i3  fat  as  a  seal." 

"  It  would  have  a  better  chance  for  ita  life  if  it  were 
lean  and  scrawny,"  said  Mr.  Morris.  "  They  are  over- 
feodiii;^  it,  and  I  told  Mr.  Dohson  so ;  but  he  wasn't  in- 
cline '  to  believe  me." 

Now  Mr.  Morris  had  been  brought  up  in  the  country, 
and  knew  a  great  deal  about  animals,  so  I  was  inclined 
to  think  he  was  right.  And  sure  enough,  in  a  few  days, 
we  heard  that  the  colt  w:us  dead. 

Poor  James  Dobson  felt  very  badly.  A  number  of  the 
neighbors'  boys  went  in  to  see  him,  and  there  he  stood 
gazing  at  the  dead  colt,  and  looking  as  if  he  wanted  to 
cry.  Jack  was  there  and  I  was  at  his  heels,  and  though 
he  said  notliing  for  a  time,  I  knew  he  wjis  angry  with 
the  Dobsons  for  sacrificing  the  colt's  life.  Presently  he 
said,  "  You  won't  need  to  have  that  colt  stuffed  now  he's 
dead,  Dobson." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Why  do  you  say  that  ?  "  asked 
the  boy,  peevishly. 

"  Because  you  stuffed  him  while  he  was  alive,"  said 
Jack,  saucily. 

Then  we  had  to  run  for  all  we  were  worlli,  for  the 
IX)bson  boy  was  after  us,  and  as  he  was  a  big  fellow  he 
would  have  whipped  Jack  soundly. 

I  must  not  forget  to  say  that  Billy  was  washed  regu- 
larly— once  a  week  with  nice-smelling  soap,  and  once  a 
montli  with  strong-smelling,  disa<rrooal)le,  carbolic  .soap. 
He  had  his  own  towels  and  wash  cluths,  and  after  being 
rubbed  and  scrubbed,  he  was  roUcjil  in  a  blanket  and  put 


I 


s  , 


52 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


by  tlie  fire  to  dry.  Miss  Latira  said  that  a  little  dog  that 
has  been  petted  and  kept  in  the  house,  and  has  become 
tender,  should  never  be  washed  and  allowed  to  run  about 
with  a  wet  coat,  unless  the  weather  was  very  warra,  for 
he  would  be  sure  to  take  cold. 

Jim  and  I  were  more  hardy  than  Billy,  and  we  took 
our  baths  in  the  sea.  Every  few  days  the  boys  took  ua 
down  to  the  shore,  and  we  went  iu  swimming  with  tb.em. 


hat 

line 

out 

for 

,ook 
k  ua 
'.era. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


TRAINING   A   PUPPY. 


IED,  dear,"  said  Miss  Laura  one  »!ay,  "  I  wish  you 
would  train  Billy  to  follow  and  retrieve.     He 
is  four  months  old  now,  and  I  shall  soon  want 
to  take  him  out  in  the  street." 

"  Very  well,  sister,"  said  mischievous  Ned  ;  and  catch- 
ing up  a  stick,  he  said,  "  Come  out  into  the  garden, 
dogs." 

Though  he  was  brandishing  his  stick  very  fiercely,  I 
was  noL  at  all  afraid  of  him  ;  and  as  for  Billy,  he  loved 
Ned. 

The  Morris  garden  was  really  not  a  garden,  but  a 
large  piece  of  ground  with  the  grass  worn  bare  in  many 
places,  a  few  trees  scattered  about,  and  some  raspl)erry 
and  currant  bushes  along  the  fence.  A  lady  who  knew 
that  Mr.  Morris  had  not  a  large  salary,  said  one  day  when 
she  was  looking  out  of  the  dining-room  window,  "My 
dear  Mrs.  Morris,  why  don't  you  have  this  garden  dug 
up?  You  could  raise  your  own  vegetables.  It  >\ould 
be  80  much  cheaper  than  buying  them." 

Mrs.  Morris  laughed  in  great  amusement.  "  Think  of 
the  hens,  and  cats,  and  dotja,  and  rabbits,  and  above  all, 
the  boys  that  I  have.  What  sort  of  a  garden  would 
there  ba,  and  do  you  think  it  would  be  fair  to  take  their 
playground  from  them?" 

63 


it 


I  I 

I!' 


I 

it} 

n 
If 
1 1 


' 


II 


64 


nKAiniFII,   JOK, 


The  lady  said  "Ni»,  she  did  init  tliiiik  it  would  lie 
fair." 

I  am  sure  I  d^n't  know  what  the  hoys  wouhl  have 
done  without  tliin  strip  of  trround.  Many  a  frolic  and 
jxanic  tiicy  had  there.  In  tlie  pre.-Jeiit  ea.<e,  Ned  walked 
around  and  around  it,  witii  ids  stick  on  his  shoulder, 
Billy  and  I  strolliuir  after  hiui.  Presently  IJilly  made 
a  dash  a<ide  to  tret  a  boue.  Ned  turned  around  and  said 
lirnily,  "to  heel." 

Billy  looked  at  him  inr.oceutly,  not  kuowini;  what  ho 
meant.  "To  hoe! !  "  exclaimed  Ned  again.  Billy 
thought  he  wanted  to  l)lay,  and  putting  his  head  on  his 
paws,  he  oegan  to  bark.  Ned  laughed,  still  In;  kept  say- 
ing "To  heel."  He  would  not  say  another  word.  He 
knew  if  he  said  "Come  here,"  or  "Follow,"  or  "(Jo 
behind,"  it  would  confuse  Billy. 

Finally,  as  Ned  kept  saying  the  words  over  and  over, 
and  pointing  to  me,  it  stemed  to  dawn  ujxm  liilly  that 
he  wanted  him  to  follow  him.  So  he  came  beside  me, 
and  together  we  followed  Ned  around  the  garden,  again 
and  again. 

Ned  often  looked  behind  with  a  pleased  face,  and  I  felt 
so  proud  to  think  I  wa.s  doing  well ;  but  suddeidy  I  got 
dreadfully  coni'used  wlun  he  turned  around  and  said, 
"Hie  out!" 

The  Morrises  all  used  the  same  words  in  training  their 
dogs,  and  I  had  heard  Miss  Laura  say  this,  but  I  had 
forgotten  what  it  m(>ant.  "(lood  Joe,"  said  Ned,  turn- 
ing around  and  ])atting  me,  "  you  have  forgt)tten.  I  won- 
der where  Jim  is?     He  would  help  us." 

He  put  his  lingers  in  his  mouth  atid  blew  a  shrill 
wliistle,  and  soon  tlim  came  trotting  up  the  lane  from  the 
Plreet.     He  htoked  at  us  with  his  large,  intelligent  eyes, 


] 


\'^ 


'■  I  \NuM)i.n  wiiKKi-;  Jim  is.' 


i 


■,i 


I 


m 


TUAINIMi    A    I'UPI'V 


55 


au(l  w:igj,'c(J  his  tail  slowly,  aa  if  to  say,  "  Well,  what  do 
you  waut  ot  lue':  " 

"  Ct^iiio  and  give  ii'o  a  hand  at  tliis  training'  business, 
old  .SolK'r.-iidts,"  said  Ned,  with  a  huigli.  "Ilrf  too  slow 
to  do  it  aloui-.  Now,  young  gfullonien,  attention !  To 
heel!''  lie  l)ogaii  to  march  around  the  ^'ardeu  au'aiii, 
and  Ji.a  and  I  lullowed  closely  at  Ins  lieels,  while  little 
Billy,  seoin;^  liiai  lie  could  not  get  us  to  play  with  hiiu, 
came  lag^ln^'  behind. 

8oou  Ned  turned  around  and  said,  "  llic  out!"  Old 
Jim  sprang  ahead,  and  ran  otF  in  front  jw  if  he  was  after 
Something.  Now  1  remembered  wiiat '•  hie  out"  meant. 
We  were  to  have  a  lovely  race  wherever  we  liked  Little 
Billy  loved  this.  We  ran  and  scampered  hither  and 
thitlier,  and  Ned  watched  us,  laughing  at  our  antics. 

After  tea,  he  calieil  us  out  in  the  garden  again,  and 
said  he  had  something  else  to  teacii  us.  He  turned  up  a 
tub  on  the  wooden  phui'orm  at  the  back  door,  and  suL  ou 
it,  and  then  called  Jim  to  him. 

He  took  a  small  leather  strap  fnjm  his  pocket.  It  had 
a  nice,  strong  smell.  We  all  licked  it,  and  each  dog 
wished  to  have  it.  "No,  Joe  and  Jiilly,"  said  Xed,  hold- 
ing us  both  by  our  collars,  ''you  wait  a  minute.  Here, 
Jim." 

Jim  watched  him  very  earnestly,  and  Ned  threw  the 
strap  half-way  acro.>s  tlie  garden,  and  said,  "  Fetch  it." 

Jim  never  moved  till  he  heard  the  words,  "  IVtch  it." 
Then  he  ran  swiftly,  brought  the  strap,  and  dropped  it  in 
Ned's  hand.  Ned  sent  him  after  it  two  or  three  times, 
then  he  said  to  Jim,  "  Lie  down,"  and  turned  to  me. 
"  Here,  Joe,  it  is  your  turn." 

He  threw  the  strap  under  the  nispborry  busher,  then 
looked   at  me  and  said, "  Fetch  it."     I   knew  quite  well 


66 


BEAUTIFUL   JOK. 


I 


*« 


;!' 


what  he  iiicant,  and  ran  joyfuUv  af'ttr  it.  I  soon  foiiml 
it  Ijy  llie  ptroui,'  simli.  l>ut  tlie  (lUtcrot  tliinij;  liapju'MtMl 
when  1  ;,'ot  it  in  my  niMiitli.  I  l^'t^an  to  i:n:i\v  it  ami 
ji'.uy  with  it,  and  wluii  Ni(i  called  out,  "  Fitch  it,"  1 
dropped  it  and  ran  toward  him.  I  Wits  nut  oh.stinato, 
liiit  1  wa.s  sluj)id. 

Ned  pniui((l  to  the  plaeo  where  it  wa.-»,  and  spread  out 
hid  empty  liand.s.  That  helped  nie,  and  1  ran  ()uic'kly 
and  got  it.  He  made  me  get  it  for  him  several  time.s. 
Sometimes  I  could  not  lind  it,  and  sometime-s  I  dro})pid 
it;  but  he  never  stirred.  He  sat  still  till  1  brought  it  to 
him. 

After  a  while  he  tried  Billy,  l)ut  it  soon  got  dark,  and 
we  could  not  see,  so  he  took  Billy  and  went  into  the 
house. 

I  stayed  out  with  Jim  for  a  while,  and  he  iusked  me  if 
I  knew  why  Ned  had  thrown  a  strap  for  us,  instead  of  a 
boue  or  something  hard 

Of  course  I  did  not  know,  so  Jim  told  me  it  waa  on 
his  account.  He  wa.s  a  bird  dog,  and  was  never  allowed 
to  carry  anything  hard  in  his  mouth,  because  it  would 
make  him  hard-moiitiied,  and  he  would  be  apt  to  l)ite  the 
l)irds  whin  he  was  brinudng  them  back  to  any  i)ersoii 
who  was  shooting  with  him.  He  said  that  he  had  been 
so  carefully  trained  that  he  could  even  carry  three  eggs 
nt  a  time  in  his  moutii. 

I  said  to  him,  "  Jim,  liow  is  it  that  you  never  go  out 
shooting?  I  have  alwavs  heard  that  ^  n  were  a  dog  for 
that,  and  yet  y^u  never  leave  home." 

He  hung  his  head  a  little,  and  said  he  did  not  wish  to 
go,  and  then,  for  he  was  au  honest  dog,  he  gave  me  the 
true  reason. 


"He  could  even  carry  three  egos  at  a  time.' 
Pane  50. 


CHAPTEK  VIII. 


\ 


■ 


A    RUINKD    DOG. 

WAS  a  sportin<^  <1'>J?."  ^'c  .suid,  bitterly, "  for  tlio 
first  three  years  of  my  life.     I  hcloiiL'ed  to  u 
inaii  who  keeps  a  livery  stable  here  in  Fair- 
port,  tind  he  used  to  hire  me  out  to  shooting  piirtie.s. 

"  I  wiia  a  favorite  with  all  the  gentlemen.  I  wius  crazy 
with  delight  when  I  saw  the  guns  brought  out,  and  would 
jump  up  and  bite  at  them.  I  loved  to  ehase  Inrdd  and 
rabbits,  and  even  now  when  the  pigeons  come  near  me,  I 
tremble  all  over  and  have  to  turn  away  lost  I  should 
seize  them.  I  used  often  to  be  in  the  woods  from  morning 
till  night.  I  liked  to  have  a  hard  search  after  a  bird  alter 
it  had  been  shot,  and  to  be  praised  for  bringing  it  out 
without  biting  or  injuring  it. 

"  1  never  got  lost,  for  I  am  one  of  those  dogs  that  can 
always  tell  where  human  beings  are.  I  di<l  not  smell 
them.  I  would  be  too  far  away  for  that,  but  if  my  mas- 
ter was  standing  in  some  place  and  I  took  a  long  round 
through  the  woods,  I  knew  exactly  where  he  was,  and 
could  make  a  short  cut  back  to  him  without  returning  in 
my  tracks. 

"  But  I  must  tell  you  about  my  trouble.  One  Saturday 
afternoon  a  party  of  young  men  came  to  get  ni".  Tiiey 
had  a  dog  with  them,  a  cocker  spaniel  called  Bob,  but 

57 


68 


i»;:autik»  i«  .101:. 


they  wuiilid  luiotlicr.  F(»r  mmw  reason  or  other,  my  iniui- 
t«T  wiw  Viiy  uiiwilliii;,'  U>  liavc  iiic  pi.  llitwtvcr,  he  ut 
hi.sl  coii.'H^'UU'ii,  ami  they  put  iiic  in  the  hack  of  the-  \vap)ii 
with  IJol)  ami  tho  limcii  Icwkcts,  and  we  drove  oH"  into 
tiic  country.  'I'liis  ]'n>\)  wiui  a  liappy,  nicrry-lodkinj;  doi,', 
and  lus  we  went  alouL,',  he  told  nn'.  of  tlie  hue  tinu;  we 
shiiuld  liavi'  next  day.  The  ynung  men  would  sh(jot  u 
littK-,  then  they  would  get  out  their  hiukeUi  and  have 
8ui>teihin<,'  to  cat  and  drink,  and  would  play  cards  and  p) 
to  sleep  under  the  tree.^,  and  we  would  heahleto  help  our- 
gelvcs  to  leg:^  and  wini^.s  ol'  chickens,  and  anything  wo 
likc(l  from  tlu!  haskets. 

'•  1  did  iiot  like  this  at  all.  I  was  used  to  working  hard 
through  the  week,  and  I  liked  to  spend  my  Sundays  quietly 
at  home.     However,  I  .said  nothing. 

"  That  night  we  .>jlept  at  a  country  hotel,  and  drove  the 
ne.\t  morning  to  tiie  banks  of  a  small  lake  where  the 
young  men  were  told  tiiere  would  he  plenty  of  wild  ducks. 
Thoy  were  in  no  hurry  to  hegin  their  sport.  They  sat 
down  in  the  .sun  on  some  Hat  rocks  at  the  water's  edge, 
and  said  they  would  have  something  to  drink  before  set- 
ting to  work.  They  got  out  some  of  the  bottles  from  tho 
wagon,  and  began  to  take  long  drinks  from  them.  Tlieii 
they  got  (jiiarrelsome  and  mischievous,  and  seemed  to  for- 
get all  about  their  shooting.  One  of  them  proposed  to 
have  some  fun  with  the  dogs.  They  tied  us  both  to  a 
tree,  and  throwing  a  stick  in  the  water,  told  us  to  get  it. 
Of  course  we  struggled  and  tried  to  get  free,  and  chalcd 
our  neeks  witli  the  rope. 

"  After  a  time  one  of  tliem  begaa  to  swear  at  me,  and 
say  that  he  believed  I  was  gun-shy.  lie  staggered  to  the 
wagon  and  got  out  his  fowling  piece  and  said  he  was  go- 
ing to  try  me. 


A  r.rixKi)  imh; 


69 


"  III-  li>a(lril  it,  wiiit  to  u  littlt'  tlintamr,  uikI  wa.>«  K'"''")i 
to  tin',  wlii'ii  tliu  voitn^  nmii  who  owiictl  liol*,  Htiiil  lie 
wa-iii't  goiii:^  to  liuvo  liis  doij's  Ic;,'^  eliot  off",  ainl  coiuiiig 
it|>  liu  unt:i>tt'iH-il  him  atid  tooi<  hint  away.  Yoii  can  iin- 
Uj^iiii'  my  ttrliii;^^,  urf  1  stood  there  tied  to  tlu-  tree,  witli  thut 
8traiii;er  pointing  ha  guii  directly  at  luo.  ile  tired  eioHu 
to  luo  a  miinher  of  times — over  my  head  and  under  my 
body.  The  earth  was  cut  up  all  arouml  me.  I  wiu  ter- 
ribly frighteuid,  and  howled  and  i>e;.'i:ed  V>  he  treed. 

"The  otiier  young  men,  who  wiie  yittin::  lauj^hinu'  at 
me,  thought  it  such  good  I'uii  that  they  got  their  guud 
too.  Iiinever  wish  to  spend  such  a  terrible  hour  ugam. 
I  wiw  sure  they  would  kill  me.  1  dare  .-iiiy  thoy  would 
have  done  so,  for  they  were  all  tjuite  drunk  by  this  time, 
if  something  lunl  nut  happened. 

"Poor  Bol',  wiio  wa.s  almost  a.s  frightened  as  I  was, 
and  who  lay  shivering  under  the  wagon,  was  killed  by  a 
shut  by  his  own  nuialer,  wlm.se  hand  was  tlie  most  unsteady 
of  all.  lie  gave  one  loud  howl,  kicked  ct)nvulsively, 
then  turned  over  on  his  side,  and  lay  (piitc  still.  It 
sobered  them  all.  They  ran  up  to  bin),  but  he  was  cpiito 
dead.  They  sat  for  a  while  (piite  silent,  tiien  they  threw 
the  rest  of  the  bottles  into  tlie  lake,  dug  a  shallow  grave 
for  Bob,  and  putting  me  in  the  wagon  drove  slowly  back 
to  town.  They  were  not  bad  young  men.  I  don't  tiiink 
they  meant  to  hurt  me,  or  to  kill  Bob.  It  w:ls  the  nasty 
stuff  in  the  buttles  that  took  away  their  reasijn. 

"  1  was  never  the  same  tlog  again.  1  w;is  ipjite  deaf  in 
my  right  ear,  and  though  I  strove  against  it,  I  was  so 
terribly  afraid  of  even  the  sight  of  a  gun  that  I  would 
run  and  hide  myself  whenever  one  was  shown  to  me.  My 
master  was  x^jry  angry  with  tho.se  young  men,  ii  id  it 
seemed  as  if  be  could  not  bear  the  sight  uf  me.    One  day 


60 


BEAUTIFUL   JOE. 


iP 


he  took  me  very  kindly  and  l)rou,i,'ht  nic  here,  and  askc<l 
Mr.  Morris  if  he  did  not  want  a  good-natured  dog  to  phiy 
with  the  chihlren. 

"  1  have  a  hapj)y  home  liere,  and  I  love  the  Morris  boys ; 
'■)ut  1  ofter.  wish  tliat  1  eoiild  keep  from  putting  my  tail 
between  my  legs  and  running  home  every  time  I  hear 
the  sound  of  a  gun." 

"Never  miiicl  that,  Jim,"  I  said.  "You  should  not 
fret  over  a  thing  for  whieli  you  are  not  to  blame.  I  am 
sure  yt»u  must  be  glad  for  one  reason  that  you  hare  left 
your  old  life." 

"What  is  that?"  he  said.  * 

"On  account  of  the  birds.  Yor  k..>w  Misa  Laura 
thinks  it  is  wrong  to  kill  the  pretty  or.  that  &y  about 

the  W(»od.s." 

"So  it  i-s,"  he  said,  "unless  one  kills  them  at  once.  I 
have  often  telt  angry  with  men  for  only  Imlf  killing  a 
bird.  I  hated  to  pick  up  the  little,  warm  body,  and  see 
the  bright  eye  looking  so  reproaclifully  at  me,  tnd  feel 
the  ilutter  of  life.  We  animals,  or  rather  the  most  of  us, 
kill  mercifully.  It  is  only  human  beings  who  butcher 
their  prey,  and  seem, some  of  them,  to  rejoice  in  their  agony. 
I  used  to  be  eager  to  kill  birds  and  ralibits,  but  I  did  not 
want  to  keep  them  before  me  long  after  they  were 
dead.  I  often  stop  in  the  street  and  lock  up  at  fine 
ladies'  bonnet':,  and  wonder  how  they  can  wear  little  dead 
birds  in  puch  dreadful  positions.  Some  of  them  have 
their  heads  twisted  under  tlieir  wings  and  over  their 
shouldors,  and  looking  toward  their  tails,  and  their  eyes 
are  so  ijorrible  that  I  wish  I  could  take  those  ladies  into 
the  woods  and  let  t'lom  see  how  etusy  and  pretty  a  live 
bird  is,  and  how  unlike  the  stutted  creatures  they  v.ear. 
Have  you  ever  had  u  good  run  i!i  the  woods,  Joe?  " 


A    RITINRD    TOO. 


CI 


"  No,  never,"  I  said. 

"  Some  day  1  will  take  yoii,  and  now  it  is  late  and  I 
must  go  to  bed.  Are  you  going  to  sleep  in  the  keiniGl 
with  mo,  or  in  the  stable  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  will  sleep  with  you,  Ji;n.  Dogs  like  com- 
pany, you  know,  as  well  as  human  beings."  I  curled  up 
in  the  straw  beside  him,  and  soon  we  were  fast  asleep, 
'  I  have  known  a  good  many  dogs,  but  I  don't  think  I  ever 
saw  such  a  good  one  as  Jim.  He  was  gentle  and  kind, 
and  so  sensitive  that  a  hard  word  hurt  him  more  than  a 
blow.  lie  was  a  great  pet  with  Mrs.  Morris,  and  na  he 
had  been  so  well  trained,  he  was  able  to  make  himself 
very  useful  to  her. 

When  she  went  shopping,  he  often  carried  a  parcel  in 
his  moutli  f  )r  her.  He  would  nover  drop  it  or  leave  it 
anywhere.  One  day,  she  dropped  her  pur^e  without 
knowing  it,  and  Jim  picked  it  up,  and  brought  it  home  in 
his  mouth.  She  did  not  notice  him,  for  he  always  walked 
behind  her.  When  she  got  to  her  own  door,  she  missed 
the  purse,  and  turning  around  saw  it  in  Jim's  mouth. 

Another  day,  a  lady  gave  Jack  Morris  a  canary  cage 
as  a  present  ft)r  Carl.  He  was  bringing  it  home,  when 
one  of  the  little  seed  boxes  fell  out.  Jim  picked  it  up 
and  carried  it  a  long  way,  before  Jack  discovered  it. 


li 


!> 


li 


CHAPTER  IX. 


tut:  parrot  rklla. 


ft 


OFTEN  used  to  hoar  the  Morrises  speak  about 
vessels  tliat  ran  hctwpon  Fairport  and  a  place 
called  the  West  Indies,  carrvins:  cartroes  of 
lumber  and  fish,  and  brini,Mng  home  raolai»ses,  spices, 
fruit,  and  other  things.  On  one  of  these  vessels  called 
the  "  Mary  Jane,"  was  a  cabin  boy,  who  was  a  friend  of 
the  Mori  is  boys,  and  often  i)rought  them  presents. 

One  day,  after  I  had  been  at  the  Morrises'  for  some 
months,  this  boy  arrived  at  the  house  with  a  bunch  of 
jrreen  bananas  in  one  hand,  and  a  parrot  in  the  other. 
The  boys  were  delighted  with  the  parrot,  and  called  their 
mother  to  see  what  a  pretty  bird  she  was. 

Mrs.  Morris  seemed  very  much  touched  by  the  boy's 
thoughtfulness  in  bringing  a  present  such  a  long  distance 
to  lier  boys,  and  thanked  him  warmly.  The  cabin  hoy 
became  very  shy,  and  all  he  could  say  was,  "Go  way  I  " 
over  and  over  again  in  a  very  awkward  manner. 

Mrs.  Morris  smiled,  and  left  him  with  the  boys.  I 
think  that  she  thought  he  would  be  more  comfortable 
with  them. 

Jack  put  me  up  on  the  table  to  look  at  the  parrot. 
The  boy  held  Iut  by  a  string  tied  around  oneof  hei  lcv.;3. 
She  was  a  grey  parrot  with  a  few  red  feathers  in  her  tail, 
and  she  had  bnght  eyes,  and  a  very  knowing  air. 

(,2 


^T 


TTTK    r.\ni!OT    BELLA. 


G.T 


The  hoy  Aiid  he  had  hron  careful  to  l)iiy  a  younf»  one 
tliat  eouhl  not  HjH'ak,  for  lie  knew  the  Morris  hoys  wouhi 
not  want  one  eliatterint,'  foreign  gibberish,  nor  yet  one 
that  wouhl  swear.  Sic  had  kept  her  in  his  bunk  in  the 
nhip,  and  had  spent  all  his  h'isurc  time  in  teaching  her  to 
talk.  Then  he  looked  at  her  an.\iously,  and  said,  "Show 
off  now,  can't  ye?" 

I  didn't  know  what  he  meant  by  all  this,  until  allcr- 
ward.  I  had  never  heard  of  such  a  thing  as  birds  talk- 
ing. I  stood  on  the  table  staring  hard  at  her,  and  she 
etarcd  hard  at  me.  I  was  just  thinking  that  I  would  not 
like  to  liave  her  sharp  little  l)eak  fiistuned  in  my  skin, 
when  I  heard  some  one  say,  "  Beautiful  Joe."  The  voice 
seemed  to  come  from  the  room,  but  I  knew  all  the  voices 
there,  and  this  was  one  I  ha<l  never  heard  before,  so  I 
thought  I  must  be  mistaken,  and  it  was  some  one  in  the 
hall.  I  struggled  to  get  away  from  Jack  to  run  and  see 
who  it  was.  liut  he  held  me  fju^t,  and  laughed  with  all 
his  might.  I  looked  at  the  other  oys  and  they  were 
laughing  too.  Presently,  I  heard  again,  "  Beau-ti-ful  Joe, 
Beau-ti-ful  Joe."  The  sound  was  close  by,  and  yet  it  did 
not  come  from  the  cabin  boy,  for  he  was  all  doubled  up 
laughing,  his  face  as  red  as  a  beet. 

"  It's  the  parrot,  Joe,"  cn.'d  Ned.  "  Look  at  her,  you 
gaby."  I  did  look  at  her,  and  with  her  head  on  one  side, 
and  the  sauciest  air  in  the  world, she  was  saying:  "  Beau- 
ti-ful  Joe,  Beau-ti-ful  Joe !  " 

I  had  never  heard  a  bird  talk  before,  and  I  felt  so 
sheepish  that  I  tried  to  get  down  and  hide  myself  under 
the  table.  T!ien  she  began  to  laugh  at  me.  "  Ha,  ha, 
ha,  good  dog — sic  'em,  boy.  Hats,  rats!  Beau-ti-ful  Joe, 
Beau-ti-ful  Joe,"  she  cried,  rattling  off  the  words  as  fast 
ns  she  could. 


64 


REAUTIFrr.   JOE. 


I  never  felt  so  queer  bef(jre  in  my  life,  and  tlie  boys 
were  just  roarin};  with  delight  at  my  puzzled  face. 
Then  tlie  parrot  oeiran  calling  for  Jim:  "Where's 
Jim,  where's  good  old  Jim?  Poor  old  dog.  Give  him 
a  bone." 

The  boys  brought  Jim  in  the  parlor,  and  when  he 
heard  her  funny,  little,  craclfd  voice  calling  him,  he 
nearly  went  crazy  :  "  Jimmy,  Jimmy,  James  Augustus  1 " 
she  said,  which  was  Jim's  long  name. 

lie  made  a  dash  out  of  the  room,  and  the  boys 
screamed  so  that  Mr.  IMorris  came  down  from  his  study 
to  see  what  the  noise  meant.  As  soon  as  the  parrot  saw 
liim,  she  would  not  utter  aiiother  word.  The  boys  told 
hira  though  v/hat  she  had  beCD  saying,  and  he  seemed 
much  amused  to  think  that  the  cixbin  boy  should  have 
remembered  so  many  sayings  his  boys  made  use  of,  and 
taught  them  to  the  parrot.  "  Clever  Polly,"  he  said, 
kindly;  "Good  Polly." 

The  cabin  boy  looked  at  him  shyly,  and  Jack,  who 
was  a  very  sharp  boy,  said  quickly,  "  Is  not  that  what 
you  call  her,  Henry?" 

"No,"  said  the  boy,  "I  call  her  Bell,  short  for  Bell- 
zcbub." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Jack,  very  politely. 
"  Bell — short  for  Bellzebub,"  repeated  the  boy.  "  Yo 
see,  I  thought  ye'd  like  a  name  from  the  Bible,  beiu'  a  min- 
ister's sons.  I  hadn't  my  Bible  with  me  on  this  cruise, 
savih'  yer  presence,  an'  I  couldn't  think  of  any  girls' 
names  out  of  it,  but  Eve  or  Queen  of  Sheba,  an'  they 
didn't  seetn  very  fit,  so  I  asks  one  of  me  mates,  an'  he 
says,  for  his  part  he  guessed  Bellzebub  was  as  pretty  a 
girl's  name  as  any,  so  I  guv  her  that.  'Twould  'a  been 
bettor  to  let  you  name  her,  but  ye  see  'twouldn't  'a  been 


THE    PAnnOT   BELLA. 


6ft 


V8 


iie 


icd 


. 


handy  not  to  call  her  somcthin',  where  I  was  tcachin*  her 
ovory  day." 

Jack  turned  away  and  walkcii  to  the  window,  his  face 
a  (k'Cj)  scarlet.  I  heard  liin>  mutter,  "  Be<^Izel)ub,  prinpo 
of  devils,"  so  I  suppose  the  cabin  boy  had  given  his  bird 
a  bad  name. 

Mr.  Morris  looked  kindly  at  the  cal)in  boy.  "  Do  you 
ever  call  the  parrot  by  her  whole  name?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  he  replied,  "  I  always  give  her  Bell,  but  she 
calls  herself  Bella." 

"  Bella,"  repeated  Mr.  Morris,  "  that  is  a  very  pretty 
name.  If  you  keep  her,  boys,  I  think  you  had  better 
stick  to  that." 

"  Yea,  father,"  they  all  said  ;  and  then  Mr.  Morria 
started  to  go  back  to  his  study.  On  the  doorsill  he 
paused  to  ask  the  cabin  boy  when  his  ship  sailed.  Find- 
ing that  it  was  to  be  in  a  few  days,  he  took  out  his  pocket- 
book  and  wrote  something  in  it.  The  next  day  he  asked 
Jack  to  go  to  town  with  him,  and  when  they  came  home, 
Jack  said  that  his  father  had  bought  an  oil-skin  coat  for 
Henry  Smith,  and  a  handsome  Bible,  in  which  they  were 
all  to  write  their  names. 

Alter  Mr.  M'-rris  left  the  room,  the  door  opened,  and 
Miss  Laura  cama  in.  She  knew  nothing  about  the  par- 
rot, and  was  very  much  surprised  to  see  it.  Seating  her- 
self at  the  table,  she  held  out  her  hands  to  it.  She  was 
so  fond  of  pets  of  all  kinds,  that  she  never  thought  of  be- 
ing afraid  of  them.  At  the  same  time,  she  never  laid  her 
hand  suddenly  on  any  animal.  She  held  out  her  fingers 
and  talked  gently,  so  that  if  it  wished  to  come  to  her  it 
could.  She  looked  at  the  parrot  as  if  she  loved  it,  and 
the  queer  little  thing  walked  right  up,  and  nestle<l  its 

'  IVetty 
E 


head  aj;;ii:;st  the  lace  in  the  front  of  her  dress, 


66 


nEAirTIFI'I.   JOE. 


\af\y,"  she  said,  in  a  cracked  whispor,  "  pvc    nolln  a 
kiss." 

The  boys  were  so  pleased  with  this,  an.;  set  up  such  a 
shout,  that  their  mother  ciinic  into  the  room  and  said 
they  had  better  take  the  parrot  out  to  the  stable.  Bella 
Bcenicd  to  enjoy  the  fun.  "  Come  on,  boys,"  she  screamed 
as  Henry  Smith  lifted  hor  on  his  finger.  "  Ha,  ha,  ha — 
come  on,  let's  have  some  fun.  Where's  the  f,'uincu  pig? 
Where's  Davy  the  rat?  Where's  Pussy?  I'ussy,  puaey 
come  here.     Pufsy,  pussy,  dear,  pretty  puss." 

Her  voice  was  shrill  and  distinct,  and  very  like  the 
voice  of  an  old  woman  who  came  to  the  house  for  rags 
and  bones.  I  followed  her  out  to  the  stable,  and  stayed 
there  until  she  noticed  me  and  screamed  out,  "  Ha,  Joe, 
Beautiful  Joel  Where's  your  tail?  Who  cut  your 
ears  off?  " 

I  don't  thiuk  it  was  kind  in  the  cabin  boy  to  teach  her 
this,  and  I  think  she  knew  it  teased  me,  for  she  said  it 
over  and  over  again,  and  laughed  and  chuckled  with  de- 
light. I  left  her,  and  did  not  see  her  till  the  next  day, 
when  the  boys  had  got  a  fine,  large  cage  for  her. 

The  place  for  her  cage  wjis  by  one  of  the  hall  windows ; 
but  everybody  in  the  house  got  so  fond  of  her  that  she 
was  moved  about  from  one  room  to  another. 

She  hated  her  cage,  and  used  to  put  her  head  close  to 
the  bars  and  plead,  "  Let  Bella  out;  Bella  will  be  a  good 
girl.    Bella  won't  run  away." 

After  a  time,  the  IMorrises  did  let  her  out,  and  she  kept 
her  word  and  never  tried  to  get  away.  Jack  put  a  little 
handle  on  her  cage  door  so  that  she  could  open  and  shut 
it  herself,  and  it  was  very  amusing  to  hear  her  say  in  the 
morning,  "Clear  the  track, children  !  Bclhv'sgoing  to  take 
a  walk,"  and  see  her  turn  the  handle  with  her  claw  aud 


h. 


T!IE   PARUOT   BELLA. 


G7 


come  otit  into  the  room.  She  was  a  very  clever  bird,  and 
I  have  never  seen  any  creature  but  a  human  beinj,'  that 
could  reason  as  she  did.  She  \va.s  so  petted  and  talked 
to  that  she  got  to  know  a  great  many  wonlri,  and  on  one 
occasion  she  saved  the  Morrises  from  being  robbed. 

It  was  in  the  winter  time.  The  family  was  having  tea 
in  the  dining  room  at  tlie  back  of  tUe  hou:«e,  and  Billy 
and  I  were  lying  in  the  hall  watching  what  was  going  on. 
There  was  no  one  in  the  front  of  the  house.  The 
hall  lamp  was  lighted,  and  the  hall  door  closed,  but  not 
locked.  Some  sneak  thieves,  who  had  been  doing  a  great 
deal  of  mischief  in  Fairport,  crept  up  the  steps  and  into 
the  house,  and,  opening  the  door  of  the  hall  closet,  laid 
their  hands  on  the  boys'  winter  overcoats. 

They  thought  no  one  saw  them,  but  they  were  mistaken. 
Bella  had  been  having  a  nap  upstairs,  and  had  not  come 
down  when  the  tea  bell  rang.  Now  she  was  hopping  down 
on  her  way  to  the  dining  room,  and  hearing  the  slight 
noise  below,  stopped  *'nd  looked  through  the  railing.  Any 
pet  creature  that  lives  in  a  nice  family,  hates  a  dirty, 
shabby  person.  Bella  knew  that  those  beggar  boys  had 
no  business  in  tluit  closet. 

"Bad  boys!"  she  screamed,  angrily.  "Get  out — get 
out!  Here,  Joe,  Joe,  Beautiful  Joe.  Come  quick.  Billy, 
Billy,  rats — Hie  out,  Jim,  sic  'en*  boys.  Where's  tlie  po- 
lice.    Call  the  police  I  " 

Billy  and  I  sprang  up  and  pushed  open  the  door  load- 
ing to  the  front  hall.  The  thieves  in  a  terrible  fright 
were  just  rushing  down  the  front  steps.  One  of  them  got 
away,  but  the  other  fell,  and  I  caught  him  by  the  coat, 
till  Mr.  Morris  ran  and  put  his  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

He  was  a  young  fellow  about  Jack's  age,  but  not  one- 
half  80  manly,  and  he  was  sniffling  and  scolding  about 


P:' 


G8 


BKAUTrFUL   JOE. 


"that  posky  parrot."  Mr.  Mori'  mado  '  .m  come  hack 
into  th(  iiouee.  uiul  hud  a  talk  \\v  ,  ;m>  ,  Ho  iuiiixl  uiit 
lliat  ho  was  a  poor,  ij^nionuit  hid,  haiiola!  »■  •<  hy  a  drunken 
father.  lie  and  liis  brother  sto!  •.the*,  nnd  sent 
tliem  to  his  sister  in  Boston,  who  sold  them  au  :  .  ^turned 
part  of  the  money. 

Mr.  Morris  jisked  liim  if  he  would  not  like  to  get  his 
living  in  an  honest  way,  and  he  siid  he  had  tried  to,  but 
no  one  would  employ  him.  INIr.  Morris  told  hnn  to  go 
home  and  take  leave  of  his  father  and  get  his  brotiier 
and  bring  him  to  Washington  street  the  next  day.  He 
told  him  plainly  that  if  he  did  not  he  would  send  a  po- 
liceman aflei  him. 

The  boy  begged  Air.  Morris  not  to  do  that,  and  early 
the  next  morning  he  appeared  with  his  brother.  Mrs. 
Morris  gave  them  a  good  breakfast  and  fitted  thera  out 
with  clothes,  and  they  were  sent  off  in  the  train  to  one 
of  her  brothers,  who  was  a  kind  farmer  in  the  country, 
and  wiio  had  been  telegraphed  to  that  these  boys  ■were 
coming,  and  wished  to  be  provided  witii  situations  wiiere 
they  would  have  a  chance  to  make  honest  men  of 
themselves. 


i 

\ 


CHAPTER  X. 

BIM.Y's   TUAININO   CONTINUri). 

HEN  Billy  w;is  five  months'  old,  he  hsul  his  first 
walk  in  tlie  street.  Miss  Laura  knew  that  lie 
had  been  well  trained,  so  she  did  not  hesitate  to 
take  him  into  the  town.  She  wivs  not  tlie  kiinl  of  a  young 
lady  to  go  into  the  street  witli  a  dog  tiiat  would  not  he- 
have  himself,  and  slic  was  never  willing  to  attract  atten- 
tion to  herself  by  calling  out  orders  to  any  of  iier  pets. 

As  soon  as  we  got  down  the  front  Pteps,  she  said,  quietly 
to  Billy,  "To  heel."  It  was  very  hard  for  little,  playful 
Billy  to  keep  close  to  her,  when  he  .saw  so  many  new  and 
wonderful  things  about  him.  lie  had  gotten  aetpiainted 
with  everything  in  the  house  and  garden,  but  this  out- 
side world  was  full  of  things  he  wanted  to  look  at  and 
smell  of,  antf  he  was  fairly  crazy  to  play  with  some  of 
the  pretty  dogs  he  saw  running  about.  But  he  did  just 
as  he  was  told. 

Soon  we  came  to  a  shop,  and  Miss  Laura  went  in  to 
buy  some  ribbons.  Siic  said  to  me,  "  Stay  out,"  but 
Billy  she  took  in  with  her.  I  watched  them  through  tlie 
glass  door,  and  saw  her  go  to  a  counter  and  sit  down. 
Billy  stood  l)ehind  her  till  she  said,  "  Lie  down."  Then 
be  curled  himself  at  her  feet. 

He  lay  quietly,  even  when  she  left  him  and  went  to 
another  counter.     But  he  eyed  her  very  anxiously  till 

69 


70  BKALTIFUL  JOE. 

she  camo  hack  mxl  .said,  "  Up,"  to  him.  Then  he  sprang 
up  aiiil  followed  her  out  to  the  street. 

She  stood  in  the  shop  door,  and  looked  lovingly  down  on 
us  an  we  I'liwned  on  her.  "Good  do<.'H,"  she  said,  softly, 
"you  shall  have  a  present"  We  wt-nt  hehind  her  again, 
and  she  took  us  to  a  shop  where  we  hoth  lay  hesidc  the 
counter.  When  wo  he^Td  her  oak  the  clerk  for  solid 
rubher  halls,  we  could  scarcely  keep  still.  We  both 
knew  what  "  hall  "  meant. 

Taking  the  parcel  in  her  hand,  she  came  out  into  the 
street.  She  did  not  do  any  more  shopping,  but  turned 
her  face  toward  the  sea.  She  was  going  to  give  us  a  nice 
walk  along  the  beach,  although  it  waa  a  dark,  disagree- 
able, cloudy  day,  when  most  young  ladies  would  have 
stayed  in  the  house  The  Morris  children  never  minded 
the  weather.  Even  in  the  pouring  rain,  the  boys  would 
put  on  rubber  bovjts  and  coats  and  go  out  to  play.  Miss 
Laui '  walked  along,  the  high  wind  blowing  her  cloak 
and  dres^  about,  and  when  we  got  past  the  houses,  she 
had  a  little  run  with  us.  We  jumped,  and  frisked,  and 
barked,  till  we  were  tired ;  and  then  we  walked  quietly 
along. 

A  little  distance  ahead  of  us  were  some  boys  throwing 
sticks  in  the  water  for  two  Newfoundland  dogs.  Sud- 
denly a  quarrel  sprang  up  between  the  dogs.  They  were 
both  powerful  creatures,  and  fairly  matched  as  regarded 
size.  It  was  terrible  to  hear  their  fierce  growling,  and  to 
see  the  way  in  which  they  tore  at  each  other's  throats.  I 
looked  at  Miss  Laura.  If  she  had  said  a  word,  I  would 
have  rim  in  and  helped  the  dog  that  was  getting  the  worst 
of  it.     But  she  told  me  to  keep  back,  and  ran  on  herself. 

The  boys  were  throwing  water  on  the  dogs,  and  pulling 
their  taih,  and  hurling  stones  at  them,  but  they  could  not 


V' 


BILLYS   TRAINIXO   OONTINrED. 


71 


separate  them.  Their  heads  seemed  locked  together, 
and  they  went  back  and  forth  over  the  stonei',  tlic  lM)ya 
eruWfliu;^  uroiind  tbeni,  shouting,  an«l  beating,  and  kick- 
ing at  tliem. 

"Stand  back,  boys," said  Miss  Lanra, "  I'll  stop  them." 
She  palled  a  little  parcel  from  her  purse,  bent  over  the 
dogs,  scattered  a  powder  on  their  noses,  and  the  next 
in.-tant  the  dogs  were  yards  apart,  nearly  sneezing  their 
heads  off. 

"  I  say,  Missis,  what  did  you  do  ?  What's  that  stuff — 
whew,  it's  pepper !  "  the  boys  exclaimed. 

JNIiss  Laura  sat  down  on  a  Hat  rock,  and  looked  at 
them  with  a  very  pale  face.  "  Oh,  boys,"  she  said,  "  why 
did  you  make  those  dogs  fight?  It  is  so  cruel.  They 
were  playing  happily  till  you  set  them  on  each  other. 
Just  see  how  they  have  torn  their  handsome  coats,  and 
how  the  blood  is  dripping  from  them." 

"  'Taint  my  fault,"  said  one  of  the  lads,  sullenly. 
*'  Jim  Jones  there  said  his  dog  could  lick  my  dog,  and  I 
said  lie  couldn't — and  he  couldn't,  nuther." 

"  Yes,  he  could,'  cried  the  other  boy,  "  and  if  you  say 
he  couldn't,  I'll  smash  your  head." 

The  two  boys  began  sidling  up  to  each  other  with 
clenched  fists,  and  a  third  boy,  who  had*a  mischievoua 
face,  seized  the  paper  that  had  had  the  pepper  in  it,  and 
running  up  to  them  shook  it  in  their  faces. 

There  was  enough  left  to  put  all  thoughts  of  fighting 
out  of  their  heads.  They  began  to  cough,  and  choke, 
and  splutter,  and  finally  found  themselves  beside  the 
dogs,  where  the  four  of  them  had  a  lively  time. 

The  other  boys  yelled  with  delight,  and  pointed  their 
fingers  at  them.  "  A  sneezing  concert.  Thank  you. 
gentlemen.     Angcore,  angcore  I " 


72 


liEAirriPUL  JuE. 


Mi.ss  Laura  laughed  t«jo,  hIic  could  not  help  it,  and 
evL'U  Billy  und  1  curled  up  our  lifMi.  Ailur  a  wiiilc  tliey 
sobered  down,  and  then  tinding  that  tiic  hoys  I>.i(In°t  u 
handkerchief  hetw-eu  tlicm,  Mi»s  I^nurii  took  Iut  owu 
0oll  one,  and  dipping  it  in  a  spring  of  fresh  water  near 
by,  wiped  the  red  eyes  of  the  sneezers. 

Their  ill  humor  had  gone,  and  when  hIio  turned  to 
leave  them,  and  eaid,  coaxingly,  "You  won't  make  thopo 
dogs  fight  any  nu»re,  will  you?"  they  said,  "  No,  sirce, 
Bob." 

Miss  Laura  went  slowly  home,  and  ever  afterward 
when  she  met  any  of  those  boys, they  called  her  "Miss 
Pepper." 

When  we  got  home  we  found  Willie  curled  up  by  the 
window  ill  the  hull,  reading  a  book.  Ho  was  too  fond  of 
reading,  and  his  mother  ofteu  told  him  to  })ut  away  his 
book  and  run  about  with  tlio  other  boys.  This  afternoon 
MiAA  Laura  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  said,  "  I 
was  going  to  give  the  dogs  a  little  game  of  ball,  but  I'm 
rather  tired." 

"  Gammon  and  spinacli,"  ho  replied,  shaking  off  her 
hand,  "  you're  always  tired," 

She  sat  down  in  a  hall  chair  and  looked  at  him.  Then 
she  began  to  tell  him  about  the  dog  light.  He  was  much 
interested,  and  the  book  slipped  to  the  floor.  When  she 
finished  he  said,  "  You're  a  daisy  every  day.  Go 
now  and  rest  yourself.  "  Then  snatching  the  balls  from 
her,  he  called  us  and  ran  down  to  the  basement.  But  ho 
was  not  quick  enough,  though,  to  escape  her  arm.  Sho 
caught  him  to  her  and  kissed  him  repeatedly.  Ho 
was  the  baby  and  pet  of  the  family,  and  he  loved  her 
dearly,  though  he  spoke  impatiently  to  her  oft^ner  than 
either  of  the  other  boys. 


HlI.l.Y    WOILL)  TAKi;   Ills   HALL   AND  (.(>  (UK    IIY    HI.MsKir.' 

Pan.-  71. 


BILLYS   TKAININO    a)MINrEI). 


73 


We  had  a  j^rand  pamo  with  Willie.  Miss  I^aura  had 
trained  us  to  do  all  kinda  of  thiiiga  with  halls — ^jiimj)iii<» 
for  them,  playing  hi<lo  and  seek,  and  catching  tiiem. 

Billy  c(juld  do  niore  things  than  I  could.  One  thing 
he  did  which  I  thought  was  very  clever.  He  played 
hall  hy  himself.  He  wxs  so  crazy  about  l)all  play  thrt 
he  could  never  get  enough  of  it.  Miss  Laura  played  all 
she  could  with  him,  but  she  had  to  help  her  mother  with 
the  sewing  and  the  housework,  and  do  lessons  with  her 
father,  for  she  wjis  only  seventeen  years  old,  and  had  not 
left  otF  studying.  iSo  liilly  would  take  hi?,  hall  and  go 
off  by  himself.  Sometimes  he  rolled  it  over  the  lloor, 
and  sometimes  he  threw  it  in  the  air  and  pushed  it 
through  the  staircase  railings  to  the  hall  below.  Ho 
always  listened  till  he  heard  it  drop,  then  he  ran  down 
and  brought  it  back  and  pushed  it  through  airain.  He 
did  this  till  he  was  tired,  and  then  he  brought  the  ball 
and  laid  it  at  Miss  Laura's  feet. 

We  both  had  been  taught  a  number  of  tricks.  We 
could  sneeze  and  cough,  and  !)e  dead  d  igs,  and  say  our 
prayers,  and  stand  on  our  heads,  and  mount  a  ladder  and 
say  the  alphabet, — this  wa.s  tlie  hardest  of  all,  and  it  took 
Miss  Laura  a  longtime  to  teach  us.  We  never  began  till 
a  book  was  laid  before  us.  Then  we  stared  at  it,  and  Miss 
Laura  said,  "  Begin,  Joe  and  Billy — say  A." 

For  A,  we  ga"  '■  a  little  squeal.  B  was  louder.  C 
was  louder  still.  We  barked  for  some  letters,  and  growled 
for  others.  We  always  turned  a  summersault  for  H. 
When  we  got  to  Z,  we  gave  the  book  a  push,  and  had  a 
frolic  around  the  room. 

When  any  one  came  in,  and  Miss  Laura  had  us  show 
off  any  of  our  tricks,  the  remark  always  wa.s,  "  What 
clever  dogs.    They  are  not  like  other  dogs.' 


h.  i 

i 

;i 


i 


74 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE, 


Tl  at  was  a  mistake.  Billy  and  I  wero  not  any  brighter 
than  many  a  uiLserahlo  cur  that  skulked  about  theerects 
of  Fairport.  It  was  kindnesH  ami  patience  that  did  ii  all 
When  I  was  with  Jenkins  he  thoiii^ht  I  was  a  very  stupiu 
dog.  He  would  have  laughed  ut  the  idea  of  any  one 
teaching  me  anything.  IJut  I  was  only  sullen  and  ob- 
Btinate,  because  1  was  kicked  about  so  much,  ff  he  had 
been  kind  to  nie,  I  would  have  done  anything  for  him. 

I  loved  to  wait  on  Miss  Laura  and  Mrs,  Morris,  and 
they  taught  both  Billy  and  mc  to  make  ourselves  useful 
about  the  hou.se.  Mrs.  Morris  didn't  like  going  up  and 
down  the  three  long  staircJises,  and  sometimes  we  just 
raced  up  and  down,  waiting  on  her. 

How  often  I  have  heard  her  go  into  the  hall  and  say, 
"  Please  send  me  down  a  clean  duster,  Laura.  Jo'e,  you 
got  it."  I  would  run  gayly  up  th.)  steps,  and  then  would 
come  Billy's  turn.  "  Billy,  I  have  forgotten  my  keys. 
Go  get  them." 

After  a  time  we  began  to  know  the  names  of  different 
articles,  and  where  thoy  were  kept,  and  could  get  them 
ourselves.  On  sweeping  days  we  worked  very  hard,  and 
enjoyed  the  fun.  If  Mrs.  Morris  was  t<J0  far  away  to  call 
to  Mary  for  what  she  wanted,  she  wrote  the  name  on  a 
piece  of  })aper,  and  told  us  to  take  it  to  her. 

Billy  always  took  the  letters  from  the  postman,  and 
carried  the  morning  paper  up  to  Mr.  Morris's  study,  and 
I  always  put  away  the  clean  clothes.  After  they  were 
njended,  Mrs.  Morris  folded  each  article  and  gave  it  to 
nie,  mentioning  the  name  of  the  owner,  so  that  I  could  lay 
it  on  his  bed  There  was  no  need  for  her  to  tell  me  the 
names.  I  knew  by  the  smell.  All  human  beings  have 
a  strong  smell  to  a  dog,  even  though  they  m.ayn't  notice 
it  tlioiiuelves.    Mrs.  MorrL  never  knew  how  she  bothered 


J 


diliVh  traimno  oontinted. 


75 


mc  hy  Riviiif^  away  Miss  Laura's  clothes  to  j>oor  jieople. 
Once,  I  followed  her  track  all  through  town,  and  ut  Inst 
found  it  was  only  a  pair  of  her  boots  on  a  ra^'ged  chiltl  in 
the  gutter. 

I  must  say  a  word  about  Billy's  tail  before  I  close  this 
chapter.  It  is  the  custom  to  (uit  the  ends  of  fox  torriers' 
tails,  but  leave  their  ears  untouched.  Billy  came  to  Miss 
Laura  so  young  that  his  tail  had  not  been  cut  oiF,  and  she 
would  not  have  it  done. 

(3ne  day  Mr.  Robinson  came  in  to  see  him,  and  he  said, 
"  You  have  made  a  fine-looking  dog  of  him,  but  his  ap- 
pearance is  ruined  by  the  length  of  his  tail." 

*'  Mr.  Robinson,"  said  Mrs.  Morris,  patting  little  Billy, 
who  lay  on  her  lap,  "don't  you  think  that  this  little  dog 
has  a  beautifully  prop(jrtioned  body  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  said  the  gentleman.  "  His  points  are  all 
correct,  save  that  one." 

"  But,"  she  said,  "  if  our  Creator  made  that  beautiful 
little  body,  don't  you  think  he  is  wise  enough  to  know 
what  length  of  tail  would  be  iu  proportion  to  it?" 

Mr.  Robinson  would  not  answer  her.  He  only  laughed, 
and  said  that  he  thought  she  and  Miss  Laura  were  both 
"  cranks." 


■/. 


I  <\ 

ii 


■»«' 


TJ'sit 


^ 


CHAPTER  XI. 


GOi.I)KISU    AND   CANARIES. 


I  HE  Morris  boys  were  all  (lillcrent.  Jack  WAi 
Itriyht  and  clever,  Ned  was  a  wag,  Willie  was 
a  hook-worm,  and  (Jarl  wtus  a  horn  trader. 

He  was  always  excliangiiig  toys  and  hooks  with  his 
schoolmates,  and  they  never  got  the  hotter  of  him  in  a 
bargain.  He  said  that  when  he  grew  up  he  w:is  going 
to  be  a  merchant,  and  lie  had  already  begun  to  carry  on 
a  trade  in  canaries  and  goldli.-jh.  He  was  very  fond  of 
what  he  called  "  his  yellow  pets,"  yet  he  never  kcft  a  pair 
of  birds  or  a  goldfish,  if  he  had  a  good  offer  for  them 

Hg  slept  alone  in  a  large,  sunny  room  at  '  no  top  of  the 
house.  By  his  own  request,  it  was  barely  furnished,  and 
there  he  raised  his  canaries  and  kept  his  goldfish. 

He  was  not  fond  of  having  visitors  coming  to  his  room, 
because,  he  said,  they  frightened  the  canaries.  After 
Mrs.  Morris  made  his  bed  in  the  morning,  the  door  was 
closed,  and  no  one  was  supposed  to  go  in  till  he  canie 
from  school.  Once  Billy  and  1  followed  him  ujistairs 
without  his  knowing  it,  but  as  soon  as  he  saw  us  he  sent 
us  down  in  a  great  hurry. 

One  Huv  Bella  walked  into  his  room  to  inspect  the 
canaries,  fsi^  ".v.ts  ]uite  a  spoiled  bird  by  this  time,  and 
I  heard  Carl  teH/ng  tha  iamily  afterward  that  it  Wi\s  as 
g()od  aa  a  nlay  f^  ,,r,    Mifs  Bella  strutt'ug  in  with  her 


GOI-DFISII   AND   TAKARIES. 


77 


breast  8t»ick  out,  and  her  little,  concciterl  air,  and  hear 
her  say,  shrilly :  "Good  nioriiiiisr,  hirdd,  gtxMl  inoruingl 
IIuw  <1(>  yoii  (i(»,  Carl  ?     (Hud  to  .-*i;e  you,  boy." 

"Well,  I'm  not  glad  to  seo  you,"  he  saiil,  decidedly, 
"  '.iiid  don't  you  evt  r  <'ome  up  liert.'  again.  You'd  frighten 
my  canaries  to  deutl.\."  And  he  sent  her  Hying  down- 
stairs. 

How  cross  she  wa.s!  She  came  sliritking  to  Miss 
Lrsura.  "  Bella  loves  hi rd.-3.  Bella  wouldn't  hurt  birds. 
< '!*.rr.s  a  hud  hoy." 

Albss  Laura  petted  and  soothed  her,  telling  her  to  go 
find  Davy,  and  he  W(juld  play  with  her.  Bella  and  the  rat 
were  great  friends.  It  waa  very  funny  to  see  tliera  going 
about  the  house  together.  From  the  very  first  she  had 
skt'd  him,  and  coaxed  him  into  her  cage,  where  he  soon 
hecarae  quite  at  home, — so  much  so  that  he  always  slept 
there.  About  nine  o'clock  every  evening,  if  he  was  not 
with  her,  s'^e  went  all  over  the  house,  crying :  "  Davy ! 
Davy!  lime  to  go  to  bed.     Come  sleep  in  Bella's  cage." 

lie  was  very  fond  of  the  nice  sweet  cakes  she  got  to 
eat,  but  she  never  could  get  him  to  eat  coffee  ground.s — 
the  food  she  liked  best. 

Miss  Laura  spoke  to  Carl  about  Bella,  and  told  him 
he  had  hurt  her  feelings,  so  he  petted  her  a  little  to  make 
up  for  it.  Then  his  mother  told  him  th.at  she  thought  he 
was  making  a  mistake  in  keeping  his  canaries  so  much  to 
themselves.  They  had  beeonie  so  tinu<l,  that  when  she 
went  into  the  room  they  W(  re  uneasy  till  she  left  it.  SIm^ 
told  him  that  petted  birds  or  animals  are  sociable  and 
like  comj)any,  unle.ss  they  are  kept  by  themselves,  when 
they  become  shy.  She  advised  him  to  let  the  other  boys 
go  into  the  room,  an<l  occasionally  to  bring  some  of  his 
pretty,  singers  downstaii-s,  where  all  the  I'amily  could  en- 


m 

V, 


78 


BEAUTIFUL  JOB. 


■,U 


joy  B(H;ing  and  lipariiig  them,  ami  where  they  would  get 
U8od  to  other  people  hosidcs  himself. 

(jarl  looked  thoiit,'htful,  and  his  mother  went  on  to  aay 
that  there  was  no  one  in  tlie  house,  not  even  the  cat,  that 
would  harm  his  birds. 

"  You  miirlit  even  charge  admission  for  a  day  or  two," 
said  Jack,  gravely,  "and  introdcoe  us  V)  them,  and  make 
a  little  money." 

Carl  was  rather  annoyed  at  tliis,  but  his  mother  calmed 
him  by  snt.vinjr  hini  a  letter  she  had  just  gotten  from  one 
of  her  brothers,  asking  her  to  let  one  of  her  boya  spend  his 
Christmas  holidays  in  the  country  with  him. 

"  I  want  you  to  go,  Ccirl,"  she  said. 

He  wiw  very  much  plouscd,  but  looked  sober  when  he 
thought  of  his  pets.  "  Laura  and  I  will  take  care  of 
them,"  said  his  mother,  "  and  start  the  new  management 
of  i,hera." 

"Very  well,"  said  Carl,  "I  will  go  tlitn ;  I've  no 
young  ones  now,  so  you  will  not  fii"'  them  much  trouble." 

I  thought  it  Wiis  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to  take  care  of 
them.  The  first  morning  after  Carl  left,  Billy,  nnd  Bella, 
and  Davy,  and  I  followed  Mies  laura  upstairs.  She 
m?de  us  sit  in  a  row  by  the  diH,i;  lest  wo  should  startle 
tl ''  canaries.  She  had  a  great  many  things  to  do.  First, 
the  canaries  had  their  bat.i;?,  'f^hey  had  to  get  them  at 
the  ?ame  time  every  rucvr/ijig.  Mit  j  Laura  filled  the  lit- 
tle white  dishes  with  v  ate «•  and  put  ihem  in  the  cages, 
and  then  came  and  sat  .  "i  i  stwoi  by  he  door.  Bella, 
and  Billy,  and  Davy  climbeti  'n\*o  her  lap,  and  I  stood 
close  by  her.  It  was  so  fuuu>  ■  wale'.!  those  canaries. 
They  put  their  heads  on  one  sidt  ind  locV^d  first  at  tlu'ir 
little  ba*!is  and  thon  at  us.  Tl  v  knew  we  were  stran- 
gers.    Finally,  as   *v;>  were  all  very  quiet,  they  got  into 


GOLDFISH    AND  CANARIES. 


79 


the  water;  and  what  a  good  time  they  had,  fluttering 
their  wings  and  splashing,  and  cleaning  themst-ivia  bu 
nicely. 

Then  they  got  up  on  their  perches  and  sat  in  the  sun, 
sliaking  theinsclves  and  picking  at  their  feathers. 

Misa  Laura  cleaned  each  cage,  and  gave  each  bird 
some  mixed  rape  and  canary  seed.  I  heard  Carl  tell 
her  hefore  he  left  not  to  give  them  much  hemp  seed,  fur 
that  was  too  fattening.  He  was  very  careful  al)out  their 
food.  During  the  summer  I  had  often  seen  him  taking 
up  nice  green  things  to  them :  celery,  chickwecd,  tender 
cabLage,  j)eache.s,  uftples,  pears,  bananas ;  and  now  at 
Christmas  time,  be  had  green  stuff  growing  in  pots  on  the 
window  ledge. 

BeiMdes  that,  he  gave  them  crumbs  of  coarse  bread, 
crackers,  lumps  of  sugar,  cuttle-fiah  to  peck  at,  and  a 
nuiiibtr  of  other  things.  Miss  Laura  did  everything  just 
as  he  told  her,  but  I  think  she  talked  to  the  birds  more 
than  he  did.  She  was  very  particular  about  their  drink- 
ing water,  and  wished  out  the  little  glass  cups  that  held 
it  most  carefully. 

After  the  canaries  were  clean  and  comfortable,  ]\Ii.-3 
Laura  set  their  cages  in  the  sun,  and  turned  to  the  gold- 
fish. They  were  in  large  glass  globes  on  the  win<iow 
seat.  She  took  a  long-handlod  tin  cup,  and  dipped  out 
the  fish  from  one  into  a  basin  of  water.  Then  she 
washed  tho  globe  thoroughly  and  put  the  lisli  back,  and 
scattered  wafers  of  fish  food  on  the  top.  The  iish  came 
up  and  snapped  at  it,  and  acted  as  if  they  were  glad  to 
get  It,  She  did  each  globe  and  then  her  work  was  over 
for  one  n.  >rniug. 

She  went  away  for  a  while,  but  every  i\\\  hoiii-s 
through  the  day  she  ran  up  to  Carl's  room  to  ace  how  the 


so 


KEATTIFUL  JOE. 


i"  ^1 


V   ^' 


9^ 


fish  and  canaries  were  getting  on.  If  the  room  was  too 
chilly  she  *"-n((l  on  ni^re  lieat,  but  she  did  not  keep  it 
too  warm,  i'm  that  wouhl  make  the  hiniri  tender. 

After  a  lime  the  canaries  got  to  know  iier,  and  hoj)ped 
•gayly  aronnd  their  caL'ts,  and  chirped  and  sang  whenever 
they  saw  her  coming.  Tlicn  she  began  to  take  some  of 
them  downstairs,  and  to  let  them  out  of  their  cages  for 
an  hour  or  two  every  day.  Tliey  were  very  happy  hulc 
creature.*,  an<l  ehsused  each  other  al)out  the  room,  and 
ilew  on  Miss  Laura's  hea<l,  and  pecked  saucily  at  her 
Tace  as  she  sat  sewing  and  watcliing  them.  Tliey  were 
not  at  all  afraid  of  nie  nor  of  Billy,  and  it  was  (jiiite  a 
sight  to  see  them  hop])ing  up  to  Bella.  She  looked  bo 
large  beside  them. 

One  litt'e  bird  became  ill  while  Carl  was  away,  and 
Miss  Laura  had  to  give  it  a  great  deal  of  attention.  She 
gave  it  plenty  of  hemp  seed  to  make  it  fat,  and  very  often 
the  yolk  of  a  hardb^  'ed  egg,  and  kept  a  nail  in  its 
drinking  water,  and  gave  it  a  few  drops  of  alcohol  in  its 
bath  every  morning  to  keep  it  from  taking  cold.  The 
moment  the  bird  lini.shed  taking  its  bath.  Miss  Laura 
took  the  dish  from  the  cage,  for  the  alcohol  made  the 
water  poisonous.  Then  vermin  came  on  it,  and  she  had 
to  write  to  Carl  to  ask  him  what  to  do.  lie  told  her  to 
hang  a  nuislin  bag  full  of  sulphur  over  the  swing,  so  that 
the  bird  would  dust  it  down  on  her  feathers.  That  cured 
the  little  thing,  and  when  Carl  came  home,  he  found  it 
(juite  well  again. 

One  df  V,  just  after  he  got  back,  Mrs.  Montague  drove 
up  to  the  hou.se  with  a  canary  cage  carefully  done  up  m 
a  shawl.  She  said  that  a  bad-tempered  housemaid,  in 
cleaning  the  cage  that  morning,  had  gotten  angry  with 
the  bird  and  struck  it,  breaking  its  leg.     She  was  very 


OOLDFI8H    AND   CANACIKS. 


81 


much  annoyed  with  the  j;irl  fur  licr  cniolty,  and  had 
di?nii.-:st'(l  luT,  and  now  she  wanted  ('ail  to  takr  lur  bird 
and  nursi'  it,  as  she  knew  nothiiiir  al)()iit  canaries. 

Cari  liad  just  come  in  from  school.     He  threw  (h)wn 
iiiri  hooks,  t(i<)k  the  sliawl  frnm  the  cage   and    looked  in 
The  poor  little  canary  was  sitting  in  a  corner       Its  oyrs 
were  half  shut,  one  le^'   hung  loose,   and   it  was   mak- 
inc  faint  chirps  of  distress. 

Carl  was  very  miieh  interested  in  it.  He  got  Mrs. 
Montague  to  hel[»  him,  and  together  they  split  niatchej>, 
tore  up  strips  of  muslin,  and  bandaged  the  broken  le^ 
He  put  the  little  bird  back  in  the  eage,  and  it  eeenied 
more  comfortable.  "1  think  he  will  do  now,"  he  said  to 
Mrs.  Montague,  "  Imt  hadn't  you  better  leave  him  with 
me  for  a  few  days?  " 

She  trladlv  aLrived  to  this  and  went  awav,  after  tellinj; 
him  that  t)ic  bird's  name  was  Dick. 

The  next  morning  at  the  breakfast  table,  I  heard  Carl 
telling  his  mother  that  as  soon  its  he  woke  up  he  sprang 
out  of  bed  and  went  to  see  how  his  canary  was.  During 
the  night,  poor,  foolish  Dick  had  picked  olf  the  splinta 
from  his  leg,  and  now  it  was  as  bad  as  ever.  "  1  shall 
liave  to  perform  a  surgical  o}teration,"'  he  said. 

I  did  not  know  what  he  meant,  so  I  watched  him  when, 
after  breakfast,  he  brought  the  bird  down  to  his  mother's 
room.  She  held  it  while  he  took  a  pair  of  sharp  scissorg, 
and  cut  its  leg  right  off  a  little  way  above  the  broken 
place.  Then  V.e  put  some  vaseline  on  the  tiny  stump, 
bound  it  up,  and  left  Dick  in  his  mother's  care.  All  the 
morning,  as  she  sat  sewing,  she  watched  him  to  see  that 
he  did  not  pick  the  bandage  away. 

When  Carl  came  home,  Dick  wa.s  so  much  hotter  that 
he  had  managed  to  fly  up  on  his  perch,  and   was  eating 

F 


82 


nEArTiFtr,  jok. 


I.  A. ' 


i! 


eeods  quite  Kayl}-.  "  I'oor  Dick  !  "  saul  C'arl,  "lot;  and  a 
etiiiiii)!"  Dick  imitated  him  in  a  lew  little  clurps.  "A 
lof,'  and  a  etsimp! ' 

"  Wiiy,  lie  iH  saying  it  too,"  exclaimed  Carl,  and 
burst  out  lau^hin^'. 

Dick  Bcemed  cluxrliil  enouj,'h,  hut  it  was  very  pitiful 
to  see  him  drap^xinj;  his  poor  little  stump  arountl  the 
cji^'e,  and  rcstiti;:  it  ULrainst  the  perch  to  keep  liiin  from 
fallini,'  When  Mrn.  MuiitaLrue  came  tiio  next  ilay,  she 
could  not  hear  to  look  at  him.  "Oh,  dear!"  she 
exclaimed,  "  I  cannot  take  that  di.sfigurod  hird  home." 

I  could  not  lifl])  thinking  how  diderent  .^^ho  \v:us  from 
Miss  Laura,  who  loved  any  creature  all  the  more  for 
having  soiih'  hlemish  aliout  it.  "What  shall  I  do?" 
said  Mrs.  Montague.  "  I  miss  my  little  hird  so  much.  I 
shall  have  to  get  a  new  one.  Carl,  will  you  sell  mo 
one?" 

•' I  will  jfive  you  one,  Mrs  Montague,"  said  the  hoy, 
eagerly.     "  I  would  like  to  do  so." 

Mrs  Morris  looked  pleased  to  hear  Carl  say  this. 
She  used  to  fear  sometimes,  that  in  his  love  for  making 
money,  he  would  become  selfish. 

Mrs.  Montr-„ue  was  very  kind  to  the  Morris  family, 
and  Carl  seemed  (piite  i)leased  to  do  her  a  favor.  lie 
took  her  up  to  iiis  room,  and  let  her  choose  the  bird 
she  liked  best.  She  took  a  handsome,  yellow  one,  called 
Harry.  He  was  a  good  singer,  and  a  great  favorite  of 
Carl's  The  boy  put  him  in  the  cage,  wrapped  it  up 
well,  for  it  was  a  cold,  snowy  day,  and  carried  it  out  to 
Mrs.  Montague's  sleigh. 

She  gave  him  a  ])leasant  smile,  and  drove  away,  and 
Carl  ran  up  the  steps  into  the  house.  "  It's  all  right, 
mother,"  he  said,  giving  Mrs.  Morris  a  hearty,  boyis'u  kiss, 


l.d 


tins. 


niilv, 
He 
bird 
ialled 
t,e  of 
It  up 
|ut  to 

and 
riuht, 
kiss, 


Oni.DFI-M    AM)   ("ANAKIhiS, 


S2I 


M  slio  Stood  waiting,'  lor  liim.  "  I  doii'l  mind  Icttniij  lu-r 
huv«'  It." 

•'  But  you  expected  to  sell  tliat  ""*>  '.n't  you?  "  slje 
a.«kod. 

"  Mrs.  Smith  said  inaylx'  slii-'d  take  it  when  she  oarno 
home  from  lioston,  but  I  daresay  sheM  cliaiigo  lier  mind 
niid  get  one  there." 

"  How  much  were  you  going  to  ask  for  iiim?  " 

"Well,  1  wouldn't  sell  IJarry  for  less  than  ten  liulinrii, 
or  rather,  1  wouldn't  have  sold  iiim,"  and  he  ran  out  to 
the  stable. 

Mrs.  Mfjrris  sat  on  the  hall  chair,  pattinj  me  an  I  rublted 
against  her,  in  rather  an  absent-minded  way.  Then 
she  got  up  and  went  into  her  husband's  study,  and  told 
him  what  Carl  had  done. 

Mr.  Morns  seemed  very  pleased  to  hear  about  it, 
hut  when  his  wife  asked  him  to  do  something  to  mak(!  up 
the  loss  to  the  boy.  he  said  :  "  I  had  rather  not  do  that. 
To  encourage  a  child  to  do  a  kind  action,  and  then  to  re- 
ward him  for  it,  is  not  always  a  sound  principle  to  go 
upon." 

But  Carl  did  not  go  without  his  reward.  That  evening, 
Mrs.  Montague's  coachman  brought  a  note  to  the  house 
addressed  to  .Mr.  Carl  Morns.  He  read  it  aloud  to  the 
family. 

My  Dkar  Caul:  I  am  charmed  with  my  little  bird, 
and  he  has  whispered  to  me  one  of  the  secrets  of  your 
room.  You  want  tifteen  dollars  very  much  to  buy  some- 
thing for  it.  1  am  sure  you  won't  be  oliended  with  an  old 
friend  for  su{)plying  you  the  means  to  get  this  some- 
thing. Ada  Montac.ue. 

"Just  the  thing  for  my  stationary  tank  for  the  gold- 
fish," exclaimed  Carl.     "  I've  wanted  it  for  a  long  time; 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


Y 


.^. 


4^ 


i^ 


%^ 


1.0 


I.I 


■^1^  Hi 
2.0 


m 


140 


il 


Uliu 


1.6 


V 


r 


<^      A 


v^^' 

■^ 


Photographic 

Sciences 
Corporation 


23  WIST  MAIN  STRUT 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  MSSO 

(716)872-4303 


•^ 


\ 


qv 


S> 


^ 


6^ 


> 


^v^% 


84 


BEAUTIFUL  JOK. 


but  how  in  tbo  world  did  she  find  out?  I've  never  told 
any  one." 

Mrs.  Morris  smiled,  and  said,  "  Barry  must  have  told 
her,"  as  she  took  the  money  from  Carl  to  put  away  for 
him. 

Mrs.  Montague  got  to  be  very  fond  of  her  new  pet. 
She  took  care  of  him  herself,  and  I  have  heard  her  tell 
Mrs.  Morris  most  wonderful  stories  about  him — stories  so 
wonderful  that  I  should  say  they  were  not  true  if  I  did 
not  know  how  intelligent  dumb  creatures  get  to  be  under 
kind  treat  nent.  • 

She  only  kept  him  in  his  cage  at  night,  and  when  she 
began  looking  for  him  at  bedtime  to  put  him  there,  he  al« 
ways  hid  hiiaself.  She  would  search  a  short  time,  and 
then  pit  down,  and  he  always  came  out  of  his  hiding 
place,  chirping  in  a  saucy  way  to  make  her  look  at  him. 

She  said  that  he  seemed  to  take  delight  in  teasing  her. 
Once  when  he  was  in  the  drawing  room  with  her,  she  was 
called  away  to  speak  to  some  one  at  the  telephone.  When 
she  came  back,  she  found  that  one  of  the  servant^  had 
come  into  the  room  and  left  the  door  open  leading  to  a 
veranda.  The  trees  outside  were  full  of  yellow  birds,  and 
she  was  in  despair,  thinking  that  Barry  had  flown  out  with 
them.  She  looked  out,  but  could  not  see  him.  Then,  lest 
he  had  not  left  the  room,  she  got  a  chair  and  carried  it 
about,  standing  on  it  to  examine  the  walls,  and  see  if 
Barry  was  hidden  among  the  pictures  and  bric-a-brac. 
But  no  Barry  was  there.  She  at  last  sank  down  exhausted 
on  a  sofa.  She  heard  a  wicked,  little  peep,  and  look- 
ing up,  saw  Barry  sitting  on  one  of  the  rounds  of  the 
chair  that  she  had  been  carrying  about  to  look  for  him. 
Ho  had  been  there  all  the  time.  She  was  so  glad  to  see 
him,  that  she  never  thought  of  scolding  him. 


QOLDFIBU  AND  CANABII:^. 


85 


it 
if 


He  was  never  allowed  to  fly  about  the  dining  room  dur- 
ing meals,  and  the  table  maid  drove  him  out  before  shi) 
set  the  table.  It  always  annoyed  hitn,  and  he  perched 
on  the  staircase,  watching  the  door  through  the  railings. 
If  it  was  left  open  for  an  instant,  he  iluw  in.  One  even- 
ing, before  tea,  he  did  this.  There  was  a  chocolate  cake 
on  the  sideboard,  and  he  liked  the  look  of  it  so  much, 
that  he  began  to  peck  at  it.  Mrs.  Montague  happened  to 
come  in,  and  drove  him  back  to  the  hall. 

While  she  was  having  tea  that  evening,  with  her  hus- 
band and  little  byy,  Barry  flew  into  the  room  again.  Mrs. 
Montague  told  Charlie  to  send  him  out,  but  her  husband 
said,  "  Wait,  he  is  looking  for  something." 

He  was  on  the  sideboard,  peering  into  every  dish,  and 
trying  to  look  under  the  covers.  "  He  is  after  thf^  choco- 
late cake,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Montague.  "Here,  Charlie, 
put  this  on  the  staircase  for  him," 

She  cut  off  a  little  scrap,  and  when  Charlie  took  it  to 
the  hall,  Barry  flew  after  him,  and  ate  it  up. 

As  for  poor,  little,  lame  Dick,  Curl  never  sold  him,  and 
he  became  a  family  pet.  His  cage  hung  in  the  parlor, 
and  from  morning  till  night  his  cheerful  voice  was  heard, 
chirping  and  singing  as  if  he  had  not  a  trouble  in  the 
world.  They  took  great  care  of  him.  He  was  never  al- 
lowed to  be  too  hot  or  too  cold.  Everybody  gave  him  a 
cheerful  word  in  passing  his  cage,  and  if  his  singing 
was  too  loud,  they  gave  him  a  little  mirror  to  look  at  him- 
self in.  He  loved  this  mirror,  and  often  stood  before  it 
for  an  hour  at  a  time. 


\1'i  »J 


?_-^"X- 


I 


CHAPTER  XII. 


MALTA,   THE  CAT. 


|HE  first  time  I  had  a  good  look  at  the  Morris 
cat,  I  thought  she  waa  the  quecrest-lookinj; 
animal  I  had  ever  seen.  She  was  dark  gray — 
just  the  color  of  a  mouse.  Her  eyes  were  a  yellowish- 
green,  and  for  the  first  few  days  I  was  at  the  Morrises' 
they  looked  very  unkindly  at  me.  Then  she  got  over  her 
dislike,  and  we  became  very  good  friends.  She  was  a 
beautiful  cat,  and  so  gentle  and  affectionate  that  the 
whole  family  loved  her. 

She  was  three  years  old,  and  she  had  come  to  Fairport 
in  a  vessel  with  some  sailors,  who  had  gotten  her  in  a 
far-away  place.  Her  name  was  Malta,  and  she  waa 
called  a  Maltese  cat. 

I  have  seen  a  great  many  cats,  but  I  never  saw  one  aa 
kind  as  Malta.  Once  she  had  some  little  kittens  and 
they  all  died.  It  almost  broke  her  heart.  She  cried  and 
cried  about  the  house  till  it  made  one  feel  sad  to  hear 
her.  Then  she  ran  away  to  the  woods.  She  came  back 
with  a  little  squirrel  in  her  mouth,  and  putting  it  in  her 
basket,  she  nursed  it  like  a  mother,  till  it  grew  old 
enough  to  run  away  from  her. 

She  was  a  very  knowing  cat,  and  always  came  when 
she  was  called.  Miss  Laura  used  to  wear  a  little  silver 
whistle  that  she  blew  when  she  wanted  any  of  her  peta. 


MALTA,   TUE  OAT. 


87 


It  waa  a  shrill  wlustle,  and  we  could  hear  it  a  lonj;  way 
from  home.  I  have  seen  her  standing  at  the  back  door 
whistling  for  Malta,  and  the  pretty  creature's  head  would 
appear  somewhere — always  high  up,  for  she  was  a  great 
climber,  and  she  would  come  running  along  the  top  of 
the  fence,  saying,  "  Meow,  meow,"  in  a  funny,  short  way, 

Miss  Laura  would  pet  her,  or  give  her  something  to 
eat,  or  walk  around  the  garden  carrying  her  on  hei 
shoulder.  Malta  wsis  a  most  alU'ctionate  cat,  and  if 
Miss  Laura  would  not  let  her  lick  her  face,  she  licked 
her  hair  with  her  little,  rough  tongue.  Often  Malta  lay 
by  the  fire,  licking  my  coat  or  little  Billy's,  to  show  hei 
affection  for  us. 

Alary,  the  cook,  was  very  fond  of  cats,  and  vised  to 
keep  Malta  in  the  kitchen  as  much  as  she  could,  but 
nothing  would  make  her  stay  down  there  if  there  was 
any  music  going  on  upstairs.  The  Morris  pets  were 
all  fond  of  music.  As  soon  as  Miss  Laura  sat  down  to 
the  piano  to  sing  or  play,  we  came  from  all  parts  of  the 
bouse.  Malta  cried  to  get  upstairs,  Davy  scampered 
through  the  hull,  and  Bella  hurried  after  him.  If  I  waa 
outdoors  I  ran  in  the  house,  and  Jim  got  on  a  box  and 
looked  through  the  window. 

Davy's  place  was  on  Miss  Laura's  shoulder,  his  pink 
nose  run  in  the  curls  at  the  back  of  her  neck.  I  sat 
under  the  piano  beside  Malta  and  Bella,  and  we  never 
stirred  till  the  music  was  over ;  then  we  went  quietly 
away. 

Malta  waa  a  beautiful  cat — there  was  no  doubt  about 
it.  While  I  was  with  Jenkins  I  thought  cats  were  ver- 
min, like  rats,  and  I  chased  them  every  chance  I  got. 
Mrs.  Jenkins  had  a  cut,  u  guunt,  long-legged,  yellow 
creature,  that  ran  whenever  we  looked  at  it. 


P8 


BEAUTII''UL  JOE. 


iMalta  had  been  so  kindly  treated  tliat  she  never  ran 
from  any  one,  except  from  Btrange  dogs.  She  knew  they 
would  be  likely  to  hurt  her.  If  they  came  upon  her  sud- 
denly, she  faced  them,  and  she  was  a  pretty  good  fighter 
when  she  was  put  to  it.  I  once  saw  her  having  a  brush 
with  a  big  ma;stiir  that  lived  a  few  blocks  from  us,  and 
giving  him  a  good  fright,  which  just  served  him  riglit, 

I  was  shut  up  in  the  parlor.  Some  one  had  closed  the 
door,  and  I  could  not  get  out.  I  was  watching  Malta 
from  the  window,  as  she  daintily  picked  her  vayacr)ss 
the  muddy  street.  She  was  such  a  soft,  pretty,  amiable- 
looking  cat.  She  didn't  look  that  way,  though,  when  the 
mastili'  rushed  out  of  the  alleyway  at  her. 

She  sprang  back  and  glared  at  him  like  a  little,  fierce 
tiger.  Her  tail  was  enormous.  Her  eyes  were  like  balls 
of  fire,  and  she  was  spitting  and  snarling,  as  if  to  say, 
"  If  you  touch  me,  I'll  tear  you  to  jjieces  1  " 

The  dog,  big  as  he  was,  did  not  dare  attack  her.  He 
walked  around  and  around,  like  a  great,  clumsy  elepliant, 
and  she  turned  her  small  body  as  he  turned  his,  and  kept 
up  a  dreadful  hissing  and  spitting.  Suddenly,  I  saw  a 
Spitz  dog  hurrying  down  the  street.  He  was  going  to 
help  the  mastiff,  and  Malta  would  be  badly  hurt.  I 
had  barked,  and  no  one  had  come  to  let  me  out,  so  I 
sprang  through  the  window. 

Just  then  there  was  a  ciiange.  Malta  had  seen  the  sec- 
ond dog,  and  knew  she  must  get  rid  of  the  mastiff.  With 
an  agile  bound,  she  sprang  on  his  back,  dug  her  sharp 
claws  in,  till  he  put  his  tail  between  his  legs  and  ran  up 
the  street,  howling  with  pain.  She  rode  a  little  way,  then 
sprang  off,  and  ran  up  the  lane  to  the  stable. 

I  was  very  angry,  and  wanted  to  fight  something,  so  I 
pitched  into  the  Spitz  dog.   He  was  a  snarly,  cross-grained 


Malta,  the  cat. 


89 


creature,  no  friend  to  Jim  and  me,  and  he  would  Lave 
been  only  too  glad  of  a  chance  to  holp  kill  Malta. 

I  gave  him  one  of  the  woi-st  beuun;,'3  he  ever  had.  I 
don't  suppose  it  was  quite  right  for  me  to  do  it,  for  Miss 
Laura  says  dogs  should  never  fight  ;  hut  he  had  worried 
Malta  before,  and  he  had  no  business  to  do  it.  vShe  b(y 
longed  to  our  family.  Jim  and  I  never  worried  his  cat. 
I  had  been  longing  to  give  him  a  shaking  for  some  tune, 
and  now  I  felt  for  his  throat  through  his  thick  hair,  and 
dragged  him  all  around  the  street.  Then  I  let  him  go, 
and  he  was  a  civil  dog  ever  afterward. 

Malta  was  very  grateful,  and  licked  a  little  place  where 
the  Spitz  bit  me.  1  did  not  get  scolded  for  the  broken 
window.  Mary  had  seen  me  from  the  kitchen  window, 
and  told  Mrs.  Morris  that  I  had  gone  to  help  Malta. 

Malta  was  a  very  wise  cat.  She  knew  quite  well  that 
she  must  not  harm  the  parrot  nor  the  canaries,  and  she 
never  tried  to  catch  them,  even  though  she  was  letl  alone 
in  the  room  with  them. 

I  have  seen  her  lying  in  the  sun,  blinking  sleepily,  and 
listening  with  great  pleasure  to  Dick's  singing.  Miss 
Laura  even  taught  her  not  to  hunt  the  birds  outside. 

For  a  long  time  she  had  tried  to  get  it  into  Malta's 
head,  that  it  was  cruel  to  catch  the  little  sparrows  that 
came  about  the  door,  and  just  after  I  came,  she  .succeeded 
in  doing  so. 

Malta  was  so  fond  of  Miss  Laura,  that  whenever  she 
caught  a  bird,  she  came  and  laid  it  at  her  feet.  Miss 
Laura  always  picked  up  the  little,  dead  creature,  pitied  it 
and  stroked  it,  and  scolded  Malta  till  she  crept  into  a  cor- 
ner. Then  Miss  Laura  put  the  bird  on  the  limb  of  a 
tree,  and  Malta  watched  her  attentively  from  her  corner, 

One  day  Miss  Laura  stood  at  the  window,  looking  out 


90 


BKAUTIKUL  JOE. 


;'■*"•-■,, 


iutu  the  garden.  Malta  was  lying  on  the  platform,  staring 
at  the  sparrows  that  'vere  picking  up  cruiuhs  from  the 
ground.  She  trcmhled,  and  half  rose  every  few  minutes, 
as  if  to  go  after  them.  Then  she  lay  down  again.  She 
was  trying  very  hard  nut  to  creep  on  them.  Presently  a 
ueighhor's  cut  came  stealing  along  the  fence,  keeping  one 
eye  on  Malta  and  the  other  on  the  sparrows.  Malta  was 
80  angry  !  She  sprang  up  and  chased  her  away,  and  then 
came  hack  to  the  platform,  where  she  lay  down  again 
and  waited  for  the  sparrowii  to  come  back.  For  a  long 
time  she  stayed  there,  and  never  once  tried  to  catch  them. 

Miss  Laura  was  so  pleased.  She  went  to  the  door,  and 
said,  softly,  "  Come  here,  Malta." 

The  cat  put  up  her  tail,  and,  meowing  gently,  came  in- 
to the  house.  Miss  Laura  took  her  up  in  her  arms,  and 
going  down  to  the  kitchen,  asked  Mary  to  give  her  a  sau- 
cer of  her  very  sweetest  milk  for  the  best  cat  in  the 
United  States  of  America. 

Malta  got  great  praise  for  this,  and  I  never  knew  of 
her  catching  a  bird  afterward.  She  was  well  fed  in  the 
house,  and  had  no  need  to  hurt  such  harmless  creatures. 

She  was  very  fond  of  her  liome,  and  never  went  far 
away,  as  Jim  and  I  did.  Once,  when  Willie  was  going 
to  spend  a  few  weeks  with  a  little  friend  who  lived  fifty 
miles  froiu  Fairport,  he  took  it  into  his  head  that  Malta 
should  go  with  him.  His  mother  told  him  that  cats  did 
not  like  to  go  away  from  home,  but  he  said  he  would  be 
good  to  her,  and  begged  so  hard  to  take  her,  that  at  last 
his  mother  consented. 

He  had  been  a  few  days  in  this  place,  when  he  wrote 
home  to  say  that  Malta  had  run  away.  She  had  seemed 
very  unhappy,  and  though  he  had  kept  her  with  him  all 
the  time,  she  hud  acted  as  if  she  wanted  to  get  away. 


MALTA,   THE  CAT. 


91 


When  the  letter  was  read  to  Mr.  MorriB,  he  said, 
"  Malta  ia  on  her  way  home.  Cats  have  a  wonderful 
cleverness  in  finding  their  way  to  their  own  dwelling. 
She  will  be  very  tired.     Let  us  go  out  and  meet  her." 

Willie  had  gone  to  this  place  in  a  coach.  Mr.  Morris 
got  a  buggy  aJid  took  Miss  Laura  and  me  with  him,  and 
we  started  out.  We  went  slowly  along  the  road.  Every 
little  while  Miss  Laura  bluw  her  whistle,  and  called, 
"Malta,  Malta,"  and  I  barketl  as  loudly  as  1  could. 
Mr.  Morris  drove  for  several  hours,  then  we  stopped  at  a 
house,  had  dinner,  and  tlien  set  out  again.  We  were 
going  through  a  thick  wood,  where  there  was  a  pretty 
straight  road,  when  I  saw  a  small,  dark  creature  away 
ahead,  trotting  toward  us.  It  was  Malta.  I  gave  a  joy- 
ful bark,  but  she  did  nut  know  me,  and  plunged  into  the 
wood. 

I  ran  in  after  her,  barking  and  yelping,  and  Misa 
Laura  blew  her  whistle  as  loudly  as  she  could.  Soon 
there  was  a  little  gray  head  peeping  at  us  from  the 
bushes,  and  Malta  bounded  out,  gave  me  a  look  of  sur- 
prise, and  then  leaped  into  the  buggy  on  Miss  Laura's 
lap. 

What  a  happy  cat  she  was !  She  purred  with  delight, 
and  licked  Miss  Laura's  gloves  over  and  over  again. 
Then  she  ate  the  food  they  had  brought,  and  went  sound 
asleep.  She  was  very  thin,  and  for  several  days  after 
getting  home  she  slept  the  most  of  the  time. 

Malta  did  not  like  dogs,  but  she  was  very  good  to  cats. 
One  day,  when  there  was  no  one  about  and  the  garden 
was  very  quiet,  I  saw  her  go  stealing  into  the  stable,  and 
come  out  again,  followed  by  a  sore-eyed,  starved-looking 
cat,  that  had  been  deserted  by  some  people  that  lived  in 
the  next  street.    She  led  this  cat  up  to  her  catnip  bed, 


i:; 


! 


02 


BEAUTIFUL   JOE. 


and  watched  her  kindly,  while  she  rolled  and  rubbed  her- 
self in  it.  Then  Malta  had  a  rull  in  it  herself,  and  they 
bfth  went  back  to  the  stable. 

Catnip  is  a  favorite  plant  with  cats,  and  Miss  Laura 
always  kept  some  of  it  growing  for  Malta. 

For  a  long  time  this  sick  cat  had  a  home  in  the  stable. 
Malta  carried  her  food  every  day,  and  after  a  time  Miss 
Laura  found  out  about  her,  and  did  what  she  could  tu 
make  her  well.  In  time  she  got  to  be  a  strong,  sturdy- 
looking  cat,  and  Miss  Laura  got  a  home  for  her  with  an 
invalid  lady. 

It  was  nothing  new  for  the  Morrises  to  feed  deserted 
cats.  Some  summers,  Mrs..  Morris  said  that  she  hud  a 
dozen  to  take  cure  of.  Careless  and  cruel  people  would 
go  away  for  the  summer,  shutting  up  their  houses,  and 
making  no  provision  for  the  poor  cats  that  had  been 
allowed  to  sit  snugly  by  the  fire  all  winter.  At  last,  Mrs. 
Morris  got  into  the  habit  of  putting  a  little  notice  in  the 
Fairport  paper,  asking  people  who  were  going  away  for 
the  summer  to  provide  for  their  cats  during  their  ab> 
eence. 


CHAPTER  XTII. 


for 


THE  nEOINNINO   OF  AN   ADVENTURE. 

|HE  firet  winter  I  was  at  the  Morrises',  I  had  nn 
adventure.  It  was  a  week  before  Christmna, 
and  we  were  havini'  cold  frostv  weather.  Not 
much  BDow  had  fallen,  hut  there  was  plenty  of  skating, 
and  the  boys  were  otf  every  day  with  their  skates  on  a 
little  lake  near  Fairport. 

Jim  and  I  often  went  with  them,  and  we  had  great  fun 
scampering  over  the  ice  after  tlieni,  and  slipping  at  every 
step. 

On  this  Saturday  night  we  had  just  gotten  home.  It 
was  quite  dark  outside,  and  there  was  a  cold  wind  blow- 
ing, so  when  we  came  in  the  front  door,  and  saw  the  red 
light  from  the  big  hall  stove  and  the  blazing  fire  in  the 
parlor,  they  looked  very  cheerful. 

I  was  quite  sorry  for  Jim  that  he  had  to  go  out  to  his 
kennel.  However,  he  said  he  didn't  mind.  Tue  brys  got 
a  plate  of  nice,  warm  meat  for  him  and  a  bowl  of  milk, 
and  carried  them  out,  and  afterward  he  went  to  sleep. 
Jim's  kennel  was  a  very  snug  one.  Being  a  spaniel,  he 
was  not  a  very  large  dog,  but  liis  kennel  was  as  roomy  as 
if  he  was  a  great  Dane.  He  told  me  that  Mr.  Morris 
and  the  boys  made  it,  and  he  liked  it  very  much,  because 
it  was  large  enough  for  him  to  get  up  in  the  night  and 


94 


UKAUTIFUL  JOE. 


•^  ■  11 


Rtrctch  hinusclf,  when  he  gut  tired  of  lying  in  one  posi- 
tion. 

It  waa  laiaed  a  little  from  the  ground,  oud  it  had  a 
thick  layer  of  straw  over  the  floor.  Above  waa  a  broad 
shelf,  wide  enough  for  him  to  lie  on,  and  covered  with  an 
old  catskin  sleigh  robe.  Jim  always}  slept  here  in  cold 
weather,  because!  it  WJis  farther  awuy  from  the  ground. 

To  return  to  this  December  evening.  I  can  remember 
yet  how  liungry  I  was.  I  could  scarcely  lie  still  till 
Miss  Laura  finished  her  tea.  Mrs.  Morris,  knowing  that 
her  boys  would  bo  very  hungry,  had  Mary  broil  some 
beefsteak  and  roust  some  potatoes  for  them ;  and  didn't 
they  smell  good ! 

They  ate  all  the  steak  and  potatoes.  It  didn't  matter 
to  me,  for  1  wouldn't  have  gotten  any  if  they  had  been 
left.  Mrs.  Morris  could  not  aUbrd  to  give  to  the  dogs 
good  meat  that  she  had  gotten  for  her  children,  so  she  used 
to  get  the  butcher  to  send  her  liver,  and  bones,  and  tough 
meat,  and  Mary  cooked  them,  and  made  soup  and  broth, 
and  mixed  porridge  with  them  for  us. 

We  never  got  meat  three  times  a  day.  Miss  Laura 
said  that  it  was  all  very  well  to  feed  hunting  dogs  on 
meat,  but  dogs  that  are  kept  about  a  house  get  ill  if  they 
are  fed  too  well.  So  we  had  meat  only  once  a  day,  and 
bread  and  milk,  porridge,  or  dog  biscuits,  for  our  other 
meals. 

1  made  a  dreadful  noise  when  I  was  eating.  Ever  since 
Jenkins  cut  my  ears  off,  I  had  had  trouble  in  breathing. 
The  flaps  had  kept  the  wind  and  dust  from  the  inside  of  my 
ears.  Now  that  they  were  gone  my  head  was  stuffed  up 
all  the  time.  The  cold  weather  made  me  worse,  and 
sometimes  I  had  such  trouble  to  get  my  breath  that  it 
seemed  as  if  I  would  choke.    If  I  had  opened  my  mouth, 


THE   BFX2INMN0   OF   AN   ADV£NTU1(£. 


\)& 


and  breathed  through  it,  as  I  have  seen  some  people 
doing,  I  would  have  heun  more  comfortahle,  but  dogs 
always  like  to  breathe  through  their  noses. 

"You  have  taken  more  eoid, '  Hiiid  Mi.s8  Laura,  this 
night,  us  she  put  my  plate  of  food  on  the  floor  for  me. 
"  Finish  your  meat,  uiid  then  come  and  sit  by  the  firo 
with  me.    What!  do  you  want  more?" 

I  gave  a  little  bark,  so  she  filled  my  plate  for  the 
second  time.  Miss  Laura  never  allowed  any  one  to  med- 
dle with  us  when  we  were  eating.  One  day  she  found 
Willie  teasing  me  by  snatching  at  a  bone  that  I  was 
gnawing.  "  Willie,"  she  said,  "  what  would  you  do  if  you 
were  just  sitting  down  to  the  tublir  feeling  very  hungry, 
and  just  as  you  began  to  cut  your  nieut  and  potatoes,  I 
would  come  along  and  snutch  the  pinte  from  you  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  I'd  do,"  he  said,  laughingly  ;  "  but 
I'd  want  to  wallop  you." 

"Well,"  she  said,  "I'm  afraid  that  Joe  will  'wallop' 
you  some  day  if  you  worry  him  about  his  food,  for  even 
a  gentle  dog  will  sometimes  snap  at  any  one  who  disturbs 
him  at  his  meals ;  so  you  had  better  not  try  his  patience 
too  fur." 

Willie  never  teased  me  afler  that,  and  I  was  very  glad, 
for  two  or  three  times  I  had  been  tempted  to  snarl  at 
him. 

Afler  1  finished  my  tea,  I  followed  Miss  Laura  up- 
stairs. She  took  up  a  book  and  sat  down  ;n  a  low  chair, 
and  I  lay  down  on  the  hearth  rug  beside  her. 

"  Do  you  know,  Joe,"  she  said  with  a  smile,  "  why  you 
scratch  with  your  paws  when  you  lie  down,  us  if  to  muke 
yourself  a  hollow  bed,  and  turn  around  a  great  many  times 
before  you  lie  down  ?  " 

Of  course  I  did  not  know,  so  I  only  stared  at  her. 


96 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


h 


"  Yetrs  and  years  ago,"  she  went  on,  gazing  down  at  me, 
**  there  weren't  any  dogs  living  in  people's  houses,  as  you 
arc,  Joe.  They  were  all  wild  creatures  running  about 
the  woods.  They  always  scratched  among  the  leaves  to 
make  a  comfortable  bed  for  themselves,  and  the  habit 
has  come  down  to  you,  Joe,  for  you  are  descended  from 
them." 

This  sounded  very  interesting,  and  I  think  she  wa.s 
going  to  tell  me  some  more  about  my  wild  forefathers, 
but  just  then  the  rest  of  the  family  came  in. 

I  always  thought  that  this  was  the  snuggest  time  of  the 
day — when  the  family  all  sat  around  the  lire — Mn.  Morris 
sewing,  the  boys  reading  or  studying,  and  Mr.  Morris 
rith  his  head  buried  in  :  newspaper,  and  Billy  and  I  on 
the  door  at  theiv  feet. 

This  evening  i  was  feeling  very  drowsy,  and  had  almost 
dropped  asleep,  when  Ned  gave  me  a  push  with  his  foot, 
lie  was  a  great  tease,  and  he  delighted  in  getting  me  to 
make  a  simpletou  of  myself.  I  tried  to  keep  my  eyes  on 
the  fire,  but  I  could  not,  and  just  had  to  turn  and  look 
at  him. 

lie  was  holding  his  book  up  between  himself  and  bis 
mother,  and  was  opening  his  mouth  as  wide  as  be  could 
and  throwing  back  his  head,  pretending  to  i.owl. 

For  the  life  of  me  I  could  not  help  giving  a  loud  howl. 
Mrs.  Morris  loo)'  .d  up  and  said,  "  Bad  Joe,  keep  still." 

The  boys  were  all  laughing  behind  their  books,  for 
they  knew  what  Ned  was  doing.  Presently  he  started 
off  again,  and  I  was  just  beginning  another  howl  that 
might  have  made  Mra.  Morris  send  me  out  of  the  room, 
when  the  door  opened,  and  a  young  girl  called  Bessie 
Drury  came  in. 

had  a  cap  on  and   a  shawl  thrown  over  her 


f*" 


THE  BEGINNINQ  OF   AN   ADVENTURE. 


97 


her 


sboulders,  and  abe  bad  just  run  acroas  tbe  street  from  her 
father's  house.  "  Oh,  Mrs.  Morris,"  she  said,  "  will  you 
let  Laura  come  over  and  stay  with  me  to-night  ?  Mamma 
has  just  gotten  a  telegram  from  Bangor,  saying  that  her 
aunt,  Mrs.  Cole,  is  very  ill,  and  she  wants  to  see  her,  and 
papa  is  going  to  take  ber  there  by  to-night's  train,  and 
'she  is  afraid  1  will  be  lonely  if  I  don't  have  Laura." 

"  Can  you  not  come  and  spend  tbe  night  here  ?  "  said 
Mrs.  Morris. 

"  No,  thank  you  ;  I  think  mamma  would  rather  have 
me  stay  in  our  house." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mrs.  Morris,  "  I  think  Laura  would 
like  to  go." 

"  Yes,  indeed,"  said  Miss  Laura,  smiling  at  her  friend. 
"  I  will  come  over  in  half  an  hour." 

"Thank  you  so  much,"  said  Miss  Bessie.  And  she 
hurried  away. 

After  she  left,  Mr,  Morris  looked  up  from  his  paper. 
"  There  will  be  some  one  in  the  bouse  besides  those  two 
girls?" 

"Ob,  yes,"  said  .Mrs.  Morris;  "Mrs.  Drury  hasher  old 
nurse,  who  baa  been  with  ber  for  twenty  years,  and  there 
arc  two  maids  besides,  and  Donald,  tbe  coachman,  who 
sleeps  over  tbe  stable.     So  they  are  well  protected." 

"  Very  good,"  said  Mr.  Morris.  And  he  went  back  to 
bis  paper. 

Of  course  dumb  animals  do  not  understand  all  that 
they  hear  spoken  of;  but  I  thiuL  human  beinip  would  be 
astonished  if  they  knew  bow  much  we  can  gather  from 
their  looks  and  voices.  I  knew  that  Mr.  Morris  did  not 
quite  like  tbe  idea  of  having  bis  daughter  go  to  tbe 
Drurys*  when  the  master  and  mistress  of  tbe  house  were 
cway,  80  I  made  up  my  mind  tiat  I  would  go  with  her. 

o 


I!  I 


98 


BEAUTIFITL  JOE. 


When  she  came  downstaira  with  her  little  satchel  on 
her  arm,  I  got  up  acd  stood  bcaide  her.  "Dear,  old 
Joe,"  she  said,  "  you  must  not  coine." 

I  pushed  niysolf  out  the  door  beside  her  afler  she  had 
kissed  her  mother  and  father  and  the  boys.  "  Go  back, 
Joe,"  she  said,  firmly. 

1  had  to  step  back  then,  but  I  cried  and  whined,  and 
she  looked  at  me  in  astonishment.  "  I  will  be  back  in 
the  morning,  Joe,"  she  said,  gently ;  "  don't  squeal  in  that 
way."     Then  she  shut  the  door  and  went  out. 

I  felt  dreadfully.  I  walked  up  and  down  the  floor 
and  ran  to  the  window,  and  howled  without  having  to 
look  at  Ned.  Mrs.  Morris  peered  over  her  glasses  at  me 
in  utter  surprise.  "Boys,"  she  said,  "did  you  ever  see 
Joe  act  in  that  way  before?  " 

"  No,  mother,"  they  all  said. 

Mr.  Morris  waa  looking  at  mc  very  intently.  He  hid 
always  taken  more  notice  of  me  than  any  other  creature 
about  the  house,  and  I  was  very  fond  of  him.  Now  I 
ran  up  and  put  my  paws  on  Iiis  knees. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  turning  to  his  wife,  "  let  the 
dog  go.' 

"  Very  well,"  she  said,  in  a  puzzled  way.  "  Jack,  jujt 
run  over  with  him,  and  tell  Mrs.  Drury  how  he  is  acting, 
and  that  I  will  be  very  much  obliged  if  she  will  let  hi."n 
stay  all  night  with  Laura." 

Jack  sprang  up,  seized  his  cap,  and  raced  down  the 
front  steps,  across  the  street,  through  the  gate,  and  up  the 
gravelled  walk,  where  the  little  stones  were  all  hard  and 
fast  in  the  frost. 

The  Drurys  lived  in  a  large,  white  house,  with  trees  nil 
around  it,  and  a  garden  at  the  back.  They  were  rich 
people   and  had  a  great  deal  of  company.    Through  the 


THE   BUG  INNING   OF   AN   ADVENTURE. 


99 


the 

ju,5i 

cting, 

hi.-n 


summer  I  had  often  seen  carriages  at  the  door,  and  ladies 
and  gcutlemcn  in  light  clothes  walking  over  the  lawn, 
and  sometimes  I  smelled  nice  things  they  were  naving  to 
eat.  They  did  not  keep  any  dogs,  nor  pets  of  any  kind, 
so  Jim  and  I  never  had  an  excuse  to  call  there. 

Jack  and  I  were  soon  at  the  front  door,  and  he  rang 
the  bell  and  gave  me  in  charge  of  the  maid  who  opened 
it.  The  girl  listei  ^d  to  his  message  for  Mrs.  Drury,  then 
she  walked  upstairs,  smiling  and  looking  at  me  over  her 
shoulder. 

There  was  a  trunk  in  the  upper  hall,  and  an  elderly 
woman  was  putting  things  in  it.  A  lady  stood  watchir  g 
her,  and  when  she  saw  me,  she  gave  a  little  scream,  "  Oh, 
nurse!  look  at  that  horrid  dog!  Where  did  he  come 
from?     Put  him  out,  Susan." 

I  stood  quite  still,  and  the  girl  who  had  I  .'ought  me  up* 
stairs,  gave  her  Jack's  message. 

"  Certainly,  certainly,"  said  the  lady,  when  the  maid 
finished  spealdng.  "  If  he  is  one  of  the  Morris  dogs,  he 
is  sure  to  be  a  well-behaved  one.  Tell  the  little  boy  to 
thank  his  mamma  for  letting  Laura  come  over,  and  say 
that  we  will  keep  the  dog  with  pleasure.  Now,  nurse,  we 
must  hurry ;  the  cab  will  be  here  in  five  minutes." 

I  walked  softly  into  a  front  room,  and  there  I  found 
my  dear  Miss  Laura.  Miss  Bessie  was  with  her,  and 
they  were  cramming  things  into  a  portmanteau.  They 
both  ran  out  to  find  out  how  I  came  there,  and  just  then 
a  gentleman  c&vue  hurriedly  upstairs,  and  said  the  cab  had 
come. 

There  was  a  scene  of  great  confusion  and  liurry,  but 
ii  a  few  minutes  it  was  all  over.  The  cab  had  rolled 
away,  and  the  house  was  quiet. 

"  Nurse,  you  must  be  tired,  you  had  better  go  to  bed," 


100 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


eaid  Miss  Bessie,  turning  to  the  elderly  woman,  us  we  all 
ctood  in  tiie  hall.  "  Sudau,  will  yuu  bring  some  supper  to 
the  diaiug  room,  for  Miss  Morris  and  me  ?  What  will 
you  have,  Laura?  " 

"  What  are  you  going  to  have?  asked  Miss  Laura, 
with  a  smile* 

"  Hot  chocolate  and  tea  biscuits." 

*'  Then  I  will  have  the  same." 

"  Bring  some  cake  too,  Susan,"  said  Miss  Bessie,  "  and 
something  for  the  dog.  I  dare  say  he  would  like  some  of 
that  turkey  that  was  left  from  diunnr." 

If  I  had  had  any  ears,  I  would  have  pricked  them  up 
at  this,  for  I  was  very  fond  of  fowl,  and  I  never  got  any 
at  the  Morrises',  unless  it  might  be  a  stray  bone  or  two. 

What  fun  we  had  over  our  supper !  The  two  girls  sat 
at  the  big  dining  table,  and  sipped  their  chocolate,  and 
laughed  and  talked,  and  I  had  the  skeleton  of  a  whole 
turkey  on  a  newspaper  that  Susan  spread  on  the  carpet. 

I  was  very  careful  not  to  drag  it  about,  and  Miss  Bes- 
sie laughed  at  me  till  the  tears  came  in  he '  eyes.  "  That 
dog  is  a  geutleman,"  she  said ;  "  see  how  he  holds  the 
bones  on  the  paper  with  his  paws,  and  strips  the  meat  off 
with  his  teeth.  Oh,  Joe,  Joe, you  are  a  funny  dog!  And 
you  are  having  a  funny  supper.  I  have  heard  of  quail 
on  toast,  but  I  never  heard  of  turkey  on  newspaper." 

"  Hadn't  we  better  go  to  bed  ? "  said  Miss  Laura,  when 
the  hall  clock  struck  eleven. 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  we  had,"  said  Miss  Bessie.  "  Where 
is  this  animal  to  sleep  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Miss  Laura ;  "  he  sleeps  in  the 
stable  at  jome,  or  in  tiie  kennel  with  Jim." 

"  Suppose  Susan  makes  him  a  nice  bed  by  the  kitchen 
stove?  "  said  Miss  Bessie. 


THE   BHGINNINO  OP   AN    \DVKNTURE. 


101 


Susan  made  the  bed,  but  I  was  not  willing  to  sleep  in 
it  I  barked  so  loudly  when  they  shut  me  up  aloue,  that 
they  had  to  let  me  go  ujistairs  with  them. 

Miss  Laura  was  almost  angry  with  me,  but  I  could  not 
help  it.  1  had  come  over  there  to  protect  her,  and  I  wasn't 
going  to  leave  her,  if  I  could  help  it.      .      « 

Miss  Bessie  had  a  handsomely  furnished  room,  with  a 
soft  carpet  on  the  floor,  and  pretty  curtains  at  the  win- 
dows. There  were  two  single  beds  in  it,  and  the  two  girls 
dragged  them  close  together,  so  that  they  could  talk  after 
they  got  in  bed. 

Before  Miss  B&ssie  put  out  the  light,  «he  told  Miss 
Laura  not  to  be  alarmed  if  she  heard  any  one  walking 
about  in  the  night,  for  the  nurse  was  sleeping  across  the 
hall  from  them,  and  she  would  probably  come  in  once  or 
twice  to  see  if  they  were  sleeping  comfortably. 

The  two  girls  talked  for  a  long  time,  and  then  they  fell 
asleep.  Just  before  Miss  Laura  dropped  off,  she  forgave 
me,  and  put  down  her  hand  for  me  to  lick  as  I  lay  on  a 
fur  rug  close  by  her  bed. 

I  was  very  tired,  and  I  had  a  very  sofl  and  pleasant 
bed,  so  I  soon  fell  into  a  heavy  sleep.  But  1  waked  up 
at  the  slightest  noise.  Once  Miss  Laura  turned  in  bed, 
and  another  time  Miss  Bessie  laughed  in  her  sleep,  and 
again,  there  were  queer  crackling  noises  in  the  frosty 
limbs  of  the  trees  outside,  that  made  me  start  up  quickly 
out  of  my  sleep. 

There  was  a  big  clock  in  the  hall,  and  every  time  it 
struck  I  waked  up.  Once,  just  after  it  had  struck  some 
hour,  I  jumped  up  out  of  a  sound  nap.  I  had  been 
dreaming  about  my  early  home.  Jenkins  was  afler  me 
with  a  whip,  and  my  limbs  were  quivering  and  trembling 
as  if  I  bad  been  trying  to  get  away  frou  him. 


102 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


m 


I  sprang  up  and  shook  myself.  Then  I  took  a  turn 
around  the  room.  The  two  girls  were  breathing  gently ;  I 
could  scarcely  hear  them.  I  walked  to  the  door  and 
looked  out  into  the  hall.  There  was  a  dim  light  burning 
there.  The  door  of  the  nurse's  room  stood  open.  I  went 
quietly  to  it  and  boked  in.  She  was  breathing  heavily 
and  muttering  in  her  sleep. 

I  went  back  to  my  rug  and  tried  to  go  to  sleep,  but  I 
could  not.  Such  an  uneasy  feeling  was  upon  me  that  I 
had  to  keep  walking  about.  I  went  out  into  the  hall 
again  and  stood  at  the  head  of  the  staircase.  I  thought 
I  would  take  a  wallc  through  the  lower  ball,  and  then  go 
to  bed  again. 

The  Drurys'  carpets  were  all  like  velvet,  and  my  paws 
did  not  make  a  rattling  on  them  as  they  did  on  the  oil  cloth 
at  the  Morrises'  I  crept  down  the  stairs  like  a  cat,  and 
walked  along  the  lower  hall,  smelling  under  all  the  doors, 
listening  as  I  went.  There  was  no  night  light  burning 
down  here,  and  it  was  quite  dark,  but  if  there  had  been 
any  strange  person  about  I  would  have  smelled  him. 

I  was  surprised  when  I  got  near  the  farther  end  of  the 
ball,  to  see  a  tiny  gleam  of  light  shine  for  an  instant 
from  under  the  dining-room  door.  Then  it  went  away 
again.  The  dining  room  was  the  place  to  eat  Surely 
none  of  the  people  in  the  house  would  be  there  after  the 
supper  we  had. 

I  went  and  sniffed  under  the  door.  There  was  a  smell 
there ;  a  strong  smell  like  beggars  and  poor  people.  It 
emelled  like  Jenkins.    It  was  Jenkins. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


HOW  WE  CAUGHT  THE  BURGLAR. 

HAT  was  the  wretch  doing  in  the  house  with  my 
dear  Miss  Laura?  I  thought  J  would  go  crazy. 
I  scratched  at  the  door,  and  ba  rked  and  yelped. 
I  sprang  up  on  it,  and  though  I  was  quite  a  heavy  dog  by 
this  time,  I  felt  as  light  as  a  feather. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  I  would  go  mad  if  I  could  not  get 
that  door  open.  Every  few  seconds  I  stopped  and  put  my 
head  down  to  the  doorsill  to  listen.  There  was  a  ri  ihing 
about  inside  the  room,  and  a  chair  fell  over,  and  some  one 
seemed  to  be  getting  out  of  the  window. 

This  made  me  worse  than  ever.  I  did  not  stop  to  think 
that  I  was  only  a  medium-sized  dog,  and  that  Jenkins 
would  probably  kill  me,  if  he  got  his  hands  on  me.  I  was 
so  furious  that  I  thought  only  of  getting  hold  of  him. 

In  the  midst  of  the  noise  that  I  made,  there  wa<»  a 
screaming  and  a  rushing  to  and  fro  upstairs.  I  ran  up 
and  down  the  ball,  and  half-way  up  the  steps  and  back 
again.  I  did  not  want  Miss  Laura  to  come  down,  but 
how  was  I  to  make  her  imderstand  ?  There  she  was,  in 
her  white  gown,  leaning  over  the  railing,  and  holding 
back  her  long  hair,  her  face  a  picture  uf  surprise  and 
alarm. 

108 


104 


BEAUTIFUL  JOB. 


H\: 


"The  dog  has  gone  mad,"  Brrcaracd  Mias  Benie. 
"  Nurse,  pour  a  pitcher  of  water  on  him." 

The  nurse  was  more  sensible.  8he  ran  downstairs,  her 
night-cap  flying,  and  a  blanket  that  she  had  seized  from 
her  bed,  trailing  behind  her.  "  There  are  thieves  in  the 
house,"  she  shouted  at  the  top  of  her  voice,  "  and  the  dog 
has  found  it  out." 

She  did  not  go  near  the  dining-room  door,  but  threw 
open  the  front  one,  crying,  "  Policeman !  Policeman ! 
help,  help,  thieves,  murder !  " 

Such  a  screaming  as  that  old  woman  made  I  -She  was 
worse  than  I  was.  I  dashed  by  her,  out  through  the  hall 
door,  and  away  down  to  the  gate,  where  I  heard  some  one 
running.  I  gave  a  few  loud  yelps  to  call  Jim,  and  leaped 
the  gate  as  the  man  before  me  had  done. 

There  was  something  savage  in  me  that  night.  I  think 
it  must  have  been  the  smell  of  Jenkins.  I  felt  as  if  I 
could  tear  him  to  pieces.  I  have  never  felt  so  wicked 
since.  I  was  hunting  him,  as  he  had  hunted  me  and  my 
mother,  and  the  thought  gave  me  pleasure. 

Old  Jim  soon  caught  up  with  me,  and  I  gave  him  a 
push  with  my  nose,  to  let  him  know  I  was  glad  he  had 
come.  We  rushed  swiftly  on,  and  at  the  corner  caught 
up  with  the  miserable  man  who  was  running  away  from  us. 

I  gave  an  angry  growl,  and  jumping  up,  bit  at  his  leg. 
He  turned  around,  and  though  it  was  not  a  very  bright 
night,  there  was  light  enough  for  me  to  see  the  ugly  face 
of  my  old  master. 

He  seemed  so  angry  to  think  that  Jim  an^  I  dared  to 
snap  at  him.  He  caught  up  a  handful  of  stones,  and  with 
some  bad  word3  threw  them  at  us.  Just  then,  away  in 
front  of  us,  was  a  queer  whistle,  and  then  another  one  liko 
it  behind  us.    Jenkins  made  a  strange  noise  in  his  throat, 


HOW    WE  CAUailT  THE   BURGLAR. 


106 


and  started  to  run  down  a  side  street,  away  from  the 
direction  of  the  two  whistles. 

I  was  afraid  that  he  was  going  to  get  away,  and  though 
I  could  not  hold  him,  I  kept  springing  up  on  him,  and  once 
I  trippigd  him  up.  Oh,  how  furious  he  was  I  He  kicked 
mc  against  the  side  of  a  wall,  and  gave  mo  two  or  three 
hard  blows  with  a  stick  that  he  caught  up,  and  kept 
throwing  stones  at  me. 

I  would  not  give  up,  though  I  could  scarcely  see  him 
for  the  blood  that  was  running  over  ray  eyes.  Old  Jim 
got  so  angry  whenever  Jenkins  touched  me,  that  he  ran 
up  behind  and  nipped  his  calves,  to  make  him  turn  on 
him. 

Soon  Jenkins  came  to  a  high  wall,  where  he  stopped, 
and  with  a  hurried  look  behind,  began  to  climb  over  it. 
The  wall  was  too  high  for  me  to  jump.  He  was  going  to 
escape.  What  should  I  do?  I  barked  as  loudly  as  I 
could  for  some  one  to  come,  and  then  sprang  up  and  held 
him  by  the  leg  as  he  was  getting  over. 

I  had  such  a  grip,  that  I  went  over  the  wall  with  him, 
and  left  Jim  on  the  other  side.  Jenkins  fell  on  his  face 
in  the  earth.  Then  he  got  up,  and  with  a  look  of  deadly 
hatred  on  his  face,  pounced  upon  me.  If  help  had  not 
come,  I  think  he  would  have  dashed  out  my  briuis 
against  the  wall,  as  he  dashed  out  my  poor  little  brothei-s' 
against  the  horse's  stall.  But  just  then  there  was  a  running 
sound.  Two  men  came  down  the  street  and  sprang  upon 
the  wall,  just  where  Jim  was  leaping  up  and  down  and 
barking  in  distress. 

I  saw  at  once  by  their  uniform  and  the  clubs  in  their 
hands,  that  they  were  policemen.  In  one  short  instant 
they  had  hold  of  Jenkins.  He  gave  up  then,  but  he  stood 
snarling  at  me  like  an  ugly  dog.    "  If  it  hadn't  been  for 


106 


BEAUTIFUL   JOE. 


— ,"  and  he 
"  it's  me  o\.  ii 


that  cur,  I'd  never  a  been  caught.  Why 
etaggcrud  back  aud  uttered  a  bad  word, 
dog." 

"Mure  shame  to  you,"  eaid  one  of  the  policemen, 
sternly ;  "  what  have  you  been  up  to  at  this  time  o^  night, 
to  have  yuur  own  dog  and  a  quiet  minister's  spaniel  dog 
a  chasing  you  through  the  street  ? " 

Jenkins  began  to  swear  and  would  nut  tell  them  any- 
thing. There  wiis  a  huuse  in  tiie  garden,  and  just  at  this 
minute  some  one  opened  a  window  and  called  out; 
"Hallo,  there,  what  are  you  doing?" 

"  We're  catching  a  thief,  sir,"  said  one  of  the  police- 
men, "  leastwise  I  think  that's  what  he's  been  up  to. 
Could  you  throw  us  down  a  bit  of  rope  ?  We've  no  hand- 
cuffs here,  and  one  of  us  has  to  go  to  the  lock-up  and  the 
other  to  Washington  street,  where  there's  a  woman  yell- 
ing blue  murder ;  and  hurry  up,  please,  sir." 

The  gentleman  threw  down  a  rope,  and  in  two  minutes 
Jenkins'  wrists  were  tied  together,  and  he  was  walked 
through  the  gate,  saying  bad  words  as  fast  as  he  could  to 
the  policeman  who  was  leading  him.  "  Good  dogs,"  said 
the  other  policeman  to  Jim  and  me.  Then  he  ran  up  the 
street  and  we  followed  him. 

As  we  hurried  along  Washington  street,  and  came  near 
our  house,  we  saw  lights  gleaming  through  the  darkness, 
and  heard  people  running  to  and  fro.  The  nurse's  shriek- 
ing had  alarmed  the  neighborhood.  The  Morris  boys 
were  all  out  in  the  street  only  half  clad  and  shivering 
with  cold,  and  the  Drurys'  coachman,  with  no  hat  on, 
and  his  hair  sticking  up  all  over  his  head,  was  running 
about  with  a  lantern. 

The  neighbors'  houses  were  all  lighted  up,  and  a  good 
many  people  were  hanging  out  of  their  windows  and 


HOW   WE  CAUGHT  THE    BURGLAR. 


107 


opcuing  their  doors,  and  colling  to  each  other  to  know 
wliat  ull  thid  nuisc  meant. 

When  tlic  policeman  apj>earc(l  with  Jim  and  me  at  hiB 
heels,  quite  a  crowd  gathered  uruund  him  to  hear  liis  part 
of  the  story.  Jim  and  1  dropped  on  tl>c  ground  panting 
as  hard  ns  we  could,  and  with  little  streams  of  water 
running  from  our  tongues.  We  were  hoth  pretty  well 
used  up.  Jim's  buck  was  bleeding  in  several  phices  from 
the  stones  that  Jenkins  had  thrown  at  him,  and  I  was  a 
mass  of  bruises. 

Presently  we  were  discovered,  and  then  what  a  fuss 
was  made  over  us.  "  Brave  dogs !  noble  dogs ! "  every- 
body said,  and  patted  and  praised  us.  We  were  very 
proud  and  happy,  and  stood  up  and  wagged  our  tails,  at 
least  Jim  did,  and  I  wagged  what  I  could.  Then  they 
found  what  a  state  we  were  in.  Mrs.  Morris  cried,  and 
catching  me  up  in  her  arms,  ran  in  the  house  with  me, 
nnd  Jack  followed  with  old  Jim. 

We  all  went  into  the  parlor.  There  was  a  good  fire 
there,  and  Miss  Laura  and  Miss  Bessie  were  sitting  over 
it.  They  sprang  up  when  they  saw  us,  and  right  there 
in  the  parlor  washed  our  Aounds,  and  made  us  lie  down 
by  the  fire. 

"  You  saved  our  silver,  brave  Joe,"  said  Miss  Bessie ; 
"just  wait  till  my  papa  and  mamma  come  home,  and  see 
what  they  will  say.  Well,  Jack,  wliat  is  the  latest?  "  as 
the  Morris  boys  came  trooping  into  the  room. 

"  The  policeman  has  been  questioning  your  nurse,  and 
examining  the  dining  room,  and  has  gone  down  to  the  sta- 
tion to  make  his  report,  and  do  you  know  what  he  has 
found  out?  "  said  Jack,  excitedly, 

"No — what?"  asked  Miss  Bessie. 

"  Why  that  villain  was  going  to  burn  your  house." 


108 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


Miss  Rcasic  gave  a  little  ebriek.  "  Why,  what  do  you 
mean  ? " 

"Well,"  said  Jack,  *'  they  think  hy  what  they  discovered, 
that  he  phuiiifld  to  pack  his  bag  with  silver,  and  carry  it 
oil';  but  jiLst  betoru  he  did  so  he  would  pour  oil  around  the 
room,  and  set  fire  to  it,  so  peoj)le  would  not  find  out  that 
he  had  been  robbing  you." 

"  Why  we  might  have  all  been  burned  to  death,"  said 
Miss  Bessie.  "lie  couldn't  burn  the  dining  room  with- 
out  Betting  fire  to  tlie  rest  of  the  house." 

"  Certainly  nut,"  said  Jack,  "  that  shows  what  a  villain 
he  is." 

"  Do  they  kno  this  for  certain.  Jack  ? "  asked  Miss 
Laura. 

"Well,  they  suppose  so;  they  found  some  bottles  of 
oil  along  with  the  bag  he  had  for  the  silver." 

"  How  horrible !  You  darling  old  Joe,  perhaps  you 
saved  our  lives,"  and  pretty  Miss  Bessie  kissed  my  ugly, 
swollen  head.  I  could  do  nothing  but  lick  her  little  hand, 
but  always  aflcr  that  I  thought  a  great  deal  of  her. 

It  is  now  some  years  since  all  this  happened,  and  I 
might  as  well  tell  the  end  of  it :  The  next  day  the  Drurys 
came  home,  and  everything  was  found  out  about  Jenkins. 
The  night  they  left  Fuirport  he  had  been  hanging  about 
the  station.  He  knew  just  who  were  left  in  the  house,  for 
he  had  once  supplied  them  with  milk,  and  knew  all  about 
their  family.  He  had  no  customers  at  this  time,  for  after 
Mr.  Harry  rescued  me,  and  that  piece  came  out  in  the 
paper  about  him,  he  found  that  no  one  would  take  milk 
from  him.  His  wife  died,  and  some  kind  people  put  his 
children  in  an  asylum,  and  he  was  obliged  to  sell  Toby 
and  the  cows.  Instead  of  learning  a  lesson  from  all  this, 
and  leading  a  better  life,  he  kept  sinking  lower. 


I 


HOW  WE  CAUOHT  THE  BDROLAn. 


109 


lie  wa«,  therefore,  ready  for  any  kind  of  luLxfliief  that 
turned  up,  and  when  he  eaw  th«;  l)rurys  going  uway  io 
the  train,  he  thouglit  he  woiihl  steal  a  l>ug  of  eilver  from 
their  sideboard,  then  sot  lire  to  tlie  house,  and  run  away 
and  hide  the  silver.  Alter  a  time  he  would  take  it  to 
Borne  city  and  sell  it. 

He  was  made  to  confess  all  this.  Then  for  his  wicked- 
ness he  was  sent  to  prison  for  ten  years,  and  I  hope  ho 
will  get  to  be  a  better  man  there,  and  be  ouo  ailer  ho 
comes  (Hit. 

I  was  sore  and  stilf  for  a  long  time,  and  one  day  Mrs. 
Drury  came  over  to  see  mc.  She  did  not  love  do{;8  oa 
the  Morrises  did.    She  tried  to,  but  she  could  nut. 

Dogs  can  see  fun  in  things  as  well  as  people  can,  and  I 
buried  my  muzzle  in  the  hearth-rug,  so  that  she  would 
not  seo  how  I  was  curling  up  my  lip  and  smiling  at  her. 

"  You — are — a — good — dog,"  she  said,  slowly.  "  You 
are  " — then  she  stopped,  and  could  not  think  of  anything 
else  to  say  to  me.  I  got  up  and  stood  in  front  of  her,  for 
a  well-bred  dog  should  not  lie  down  when  a  lady  speaks 
to  him.  I  wagged  my  body  a  little,  and  I  would  gladly 
have  said  something  to  help  her  out  of  her  difficulty,  but 
I  couldn't.  If  she  had  stroked  mc  it  might  have  helped 
her,  but  she  didn't  want  to  touch  me,  and  I  knew  she 
didn't  want  me  to  touch  her,  so  I  just  stood  looking  at  her. 

"  Mrs.  Morris,"  she  said,  turning  from  me  with  a 
puzzled  face,  "  I  don't  like  animals,  and  I  can't  pretend 
to,  for  they  always  find  me  out ;  but  can't  you  let  that 
dog  know  that  I  shall  feel  eternally  grateful  to  him  for 
saving  not  only  our  property, — for  that  is  a  trifle, — but 
my  darling  daughter  from  fright  and  annoyance,  and  a 
possible  injury  or  loss  of  life  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  understands,"  said  Mrs.  Morris.    "  He  is 


110 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


a  very  wise  dog."  And  smiling  in  great  amusement,  she 
called  me  to  her  aud  put  ray  puwg  on  her  lap.  "  IjOoIc  at 
that  lady,  Joe.  She  is  pleased  with  you  for  driving 
Jenkins  away  from  her  house.   You  remember  Jenkins  ? " 

I  barked  angrily  and  limped  tu  the  window. 

"  How  intelligent  he  is,"  aaid  Mrs.  Drury.  "  My  hus- 
band has  sent  to  New  York  for  a  watch-dog,  and  he  says 
that  from  this  on  our  house  shall  never  be  without  one. 
Now  I  must  go.  Your  dog  is  happy,  Mrs.  Morris,  and  I 
can  do  nothing  for  him,  except  to  say  that  I  shall  never 
fcrget  him,  ard  I  wish  he  would  come  over  occasionally  to 
see  us.  Perhaps  when  we  get  our  dog  he  will.  I  shall 
tell  my  cook  whenever  she  sees  him  to  give  him  some- 
thing to  eat.  This  is  a  souvenir  for  Laura  of  that  dread- 
ful night.  I  feel  under  a  deep  obligation  to  you,  so  I  am 
sure  you  will  allow  her  to  accept  it."  Then  she  gave 
Mrs.  Morris  a  little  box  and  went  away. 

When  Miss  Laura  came  in,  she  opened  the  box,  and 
found  in  it  a  handsome  diamond  ring.  On  the  inside  of 
it  was  engraved  :  "  Laura,  in  memory  of  December  20th, 
18 — .    From  her  grateful  friend,  Bessie." 

The  diamond  was  worth  hundreds  of  dollars,  and  Mrs. 
Morris  told  Miss  Laura  that  she  had  rather  she  would 
not  wear  it  then,  while  she  was  a  young  girl.  It  was  not 
suitable  for  her,  and  she  knew  Mrs.  Dnny  did  not 
expect  ber  to  do  so.  She  wished  to  give  her  a  valuable 
present,  and  this  would  always  be  worth  a  great  deal  of 
money. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


OUR  JOURNEY   TO    RIVERDALE. 

[very  other  summer,  the  Morris  children  were 
sent  to  some  place  in  the  country,  so  that  they 
could  have  a  change  of  air,  and  see  what  coun- 
try life  was  like.  As  there  were  so  many  of  thero,  they 
usually  went  different  ways. 

The  summer  after  I  came  to  them,  Jack  and  Carl  went 
to  an  uncle  in  Vermont,  Miss  Laura  went  to  another  in 
New  Hampshire,  and  Ned  and  Willie  went  to  visit  a 
maiden  aunt  who  lived  in  the  White  Mountains. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morris  stayed  at  home  Fairport  was  a 
lovely  place  in  summer,  and  many  people  came  there  to 
visit. 

The  children  took  some  of  their  peta  with  them,  and  the 
others  they  left  at  home  for  their  mother  to  take  care  of. 
She  never  allowed  them  to  take  a  pet  animal  anywhere, 
unless  she  knew  it  would  be  perfectly  welcome.  "  Don't 
let  your  pets  be  a  worry  to  other  people,"  she  often  said 
to  them,  "or  they  will  dislike  them  and  you  too." 

Miss  Laura  went  away  earlier  tj;an  the  others,  for  she 
had  run  down  through  the  spring,  and  was  pale  and  thin. 
One  day,  early  in  June,  we  set  out.  I  say  "  wo,"  fur  after 
my  adventure  with  Jenkins,  Miss  Laura  said  tliat  I  should 
never  be  parted  from  her.     If  any  one  invited  her  to  come 

111 


Il 


112 


BKAIJTIFUL   JOE. 


and  see  them,  and  didn't  want  me,  she  would  stay  at 
faoine. 

The  whole  family  went  to  the  station  to  see  us  off.  They 
put  a  chaiu  on  my  collar,  and  took  me  to  the  baggage  of- 
fice, and  got  two  tickets  for  me.  One  was  tied  to  my  col- 
lar, and  the  other  Miss  Laura  put  in  her  purse.  Then  I 
was  put  in  a  baggage  car,  and  chained  in  a  corner.  I 
iieard  Mr.  Morris  sav  that  as  we  were  onlv  going  a  short 
'listance,  it  was  not  worth  while  to  get  au  express  ticket 
for  me. 

There  was  a  dreadful  noise  and  bustle  at  the  station. 
Whistles  wer^  blowing,  and  people  were  rushing  up  and 
down  the  platform.  Some  men  were  tumbling  baggage 
so  fast  into  the  car  where  I  was,  that  I  was  afraid  some 
of  it  would  fall  on  me. 

For  a  few  minutes  Miss  Laura  stood  by  the  door  and 
looked  in,  but  soon  the  men  had  piled  up  so  many  boxes 
and  trunks  that  she  could  not  &ee  me.  Then  she  went 
away.  Mr.  Morris  asked  one  of  the  men  to  see  that  I  did 
not  get  hurt,  and  I  heard  some  money  rattle.  Then  he 
went  away  too. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  June,  and  the  weather  had  sud- 
denly become  very  hot.  We  had  a  long,  cold  soring,  and 
not  being  used  to  the  heat,  it  seemed  very  hard  to  bear. 

Before  the  train  started,  the  doors  of  the  baggage  car 
were  closed,  and  it  became  (juite  dark  inside.  The  dark- 
ness, and  the  heat,  and  the  close  smell,  and  the  noise,  as 
we  went  rushing  along,  made  me  feel  sick  and  frightened. 

I  did  not  darr;  to  lie  down,  but  sr.t  up  trembling  and 
wishing  that  we  might  soon  come  to  Riverdale  Station. 
But  we  did  Uv-t  get  there  for  some  time,  and  I  was  to  have 
a  great  fright. 

I  was  thinking  of  all  the  stories  that  I  knew  of  auimak 


OUR  JOURNEY   TO   RIVERDALE. 


113 


travel! II LT.  In  February,  the  Druns'  Newfoundland 
watch-dog  Pluto,  had  arrived  from  New  York,  and  he 
told  Jim  and  me  that  he  had  a  miserable  journey. 

A  gentleman  friend  of  Mr.  Drury's  had  brought  hira 
from  New  York.  He  8„-/  hira  chained  up  in  his  car,  and 
he  weut  into  his  Pullman,  first  tipping  the  baggage-mas- 
ter handsomely  to  look  after  liim.  Pluto  said  that  the 
baggage-master  had  a  very  red  nose,  and  he  was  always 
getting  drinks  for  himself  when  they  stopped  at  a  station, 
but  he  never  once  gave  him  a  drink  or  anything  to  eat, 
from  the  time  they  left  New  York  till  they  got  to  Fair- 
port.  When  the  train  stopped  there,  and  Pluto's  chain 
was  unfastened,  he  sprang  out  on  the  platform,  and  nearly 
knocked  Mr.  Drury  down.  He  saw  some  snow  tliat  had 
sifted  through  the  station  roof,  and  he  was  so  thirsty  that  he 
began  to  lick  it  up.  When  the  snow  was  all  gone,  he 
jumped  up  and  licked  the  frost  on  the  windows. 

Mr.  Druiy's  friend  was  so  angry.  He  found  the  bag- 
gage-master, and  said  to  him:  "  What  did  you  mean,  by 
coming  into  my  car  every  few  hours,  to  tell  me  that  the 
dog  was  fed,  and  watered,  and  comfortable  ?  I  shall  re- 
port you." 

He  weut  into  the  office  at  the  station,  and  complained 
of  the  man,  and  was  told  that  he  was  a  drinking  man,  and 
was  going  to  be  dismissed. 

I  was  not  afraid  of  suffering  like  Pluto,  because  it  was 
only  going  to  take  us  a  few  hours  to  get  to  Riverdale.  I 
found  that  we  always  went  slowly  before  we  came  in  to  a 
station,  and  o:ie  time  when  we  began  to  slacken  speed  I 
thought  that  surely  we  raust  be  at  our  journey's  end. 
However,  it  was  not  Riverdale.  The  car  gave  a  kind  of 
jump,  then  there  was  a  crashing  sound  ahead,  and  we 
stopped. 


f  i  I 

It 


I  1 


t   I 


I! 


I  ';      I 


114 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


I  heard  men  shoiitii  ,'  and  running  up  and  down,  and  1 
wondered  wliat  had  happened.  It  was  all  dark  and  still 
in  the  car,  and  nobody  came  in,  but  the  noise  kept  up 
outside,  and  I  knew  something  had  gone  wrong  with  tlie 
train.  I'sriiaps  Miss  Laura  had  got  hurt.  Something 
must  have  happened  to  her  or  slie  would  come  to  me. 

I  harked  and  pulled  at  my  chain  till  my  neck  wsissore, 
but  for  a  long,  long  time  I  was  there  alone.  The  men 
running  about  outside  must  have  hoard  me.  If  ever  I 
hear  a  man  in  trouble  and  crying  i'ur  help  I  go  to  hira 
and  see  what  he  wants. 

After  such  a  long  time  that  it  seemed  to  me  it  must  be 
the  middle  of  tlie  night,  tlie  door  at  the  end  of  the  car 
opened,  aud  a  m.an  looked  in  "  This  is  all  through  bag- 
gage for  New  York,  miss,"  I  heard  him  say,  "they 
wouldu'i  put  your  dog  in  here." 

"  Yes,  they  did — 1  am  sure  this  is  the  car,"  I  beard  in 
the  voice  I  knew  so  well,  *'  and  won't  you  get  him  out, 
please?     He  must  be  terribly  frightened." 

The  man  stooped  down  and  unfastened  my  chain, 
grumbling  to  himself  because  I  had  not  been  put  in 
another  car.  "Some  folks  tumble  a  dog  round  as  if  he 
was  a  junk  of  coal,"  he  said,  patung  me  kindly. 

I  was  neaiiy  wild  with  deliglit  to  get  with  Miss  Laura 
again,  but  I  had  barked  so  much,  and  pressed  my  neck 
so  hard  with  my  collar  that  my  voice  was  all  gone.  I 
fawned  on  her,  aud  wagged  myself  about,  and  opened  and 
shut  my  mouth,  but  no  sound  came  out  of  it. 

It  made  Miss  Laura  nervous.  She  tried  to  laugh  and 
cry  at  the  same  time,  and  then  bit  her  lip  hard,  aud  said : 
"  Oh,  Joe,  don't." 

"  He's  lost  his  bark,  hasn't  he  ? "  said  the  man,  looking 
at  me  curiously. 


I 


OQR  JOURNEY   TO   RIVERDALE. 


11. '» 


"It  is  a  wicked  thin'T  to  confine  an  animal  in  a  dark 
and  closed  car,"  said  Miss  Laura,  trying  to  see  lier  way 
down  the  steps  throiigii  her  tears. 

Tlie  man  put  out  his  hand  and  helped  her.  "  lie's  not 
suffered  much,  miss,"  lie  said,  "  don't  you  distress  yourself. 
Now  if  you'd  been  a  brakesman  on  a  Chicago  train,  as  I 
was  a  few  years  ago,  and  seen  the  animals  run  in  for  the 
stock  yards,  you  might  talk  about  cruelty.  Cars  that 
ought  to  hold  a  certain  number  of  pigs,  or  sheep,  or  cattle, 
jammed  full  with  twice  as  many,  and  half  of  'em  thrown 
out  choked  and  smothered  to  death.  I've  seen  a  man 
running  up  and  down,  raging  and  swearing  because  the 
railway  people  hadn't  let  him  get  in  to  tend  to  his  pigs 
on  the  road." 

Miss  Laura  turned  and  looked  at  the  man  with  a  very 
white  face.    "  Is  it  like  that  now  ? '  she  asked. 

"  No,  no,"  he  said,  hadtily.  "  It's  better  now.  They've 
got  new  regulations  about  taking  care  of  tlie  stock,  but 
mind  you,  miss,  the  cruelty  to  animals  isn't  all  done  on 
the  railways.  There's  a  great  lot  of  dumb  creatures  suf- 
fering all  round  everywhere,  and  if  they  could  speak, 
'twould  be  a  hard  showing  for  some  other  people  besides 
the  railway  men." 

He  lifted  his  cap  and  hurried  down  the  platform,  and 
Miss  Laura,  her  face  very  much  troubled,  picked  her 
way  among  the  bits  of  coal  and  wood  scattered  about  the 
platform,  and  went  into  the  waiting  room  of  the  little 
station. 

She  took  me  up  to  the  filter  and  let  some  water  run  in 
her  hand,  and  gave  it  to  me  to  lap.  Then  she  sat  down 
and  I  leaned  ray  head  against  her  knees,  and  she  stroked 
my  throat  gently. 

There  were  some  people  sitting  about  the  room,  and. 


IIG 


dkai:tiful  jok. 


I  '  .- 


Mr 


i^^ 


from  Ujeir  talk,  I  found  out  what  had  taken  place.  There 
had  been  a  freiglit  train  on  a  side  track  at  this  station, 
waiting  for  us  to  get  by.  The  switcliinan  had  carelessly 
left  the  switch  open  after  this  train  went  by,  and  when  we 
came  along  afterward, "our  train,  instead  of  running  in 
by  the  platform,  went  crashing  into  the  freight  train.  If 
we  had  been  going  fast,  great  damage  might  have  been 
done.  As  it  was,  our  engine  was  smas'^ed  so  badly  that 
it  could  not  take  us  on  ;  the  passengers  were  frightened ; 
and  we  were  liaving  a  tedious  time  waiting  for  another 
engine  to  come  and  take  us  to  Riveniale. 

After  the  accident,  the  trainmen  were  so  busy  that 
Miss  Laura  could  get  no  one  to  release  me. 

While  I  sat  by  her,  I  noticed  an  old  gentleman  staring 
at  us.  He  was  such  a  queer-looking  old  gentleman.  He 
looked  like  a  poodle.  He  had  briglit  brown  eyes,  and  a 
pointed  face,  and  a  shock  of  white  hair  that  he  shook 
every  few  minutes.  He  sat  with. his  hands  clasped  on  the 
top  of  his  cane,  and  he  scarcely  took  his  eyes  from  Miss 
Laura's  face.  Suddenly  he  jumped  up  and  came  and 
sat  down  beside  her. 

"  An  ugly  dog,  that,"  he  said,  pointing  to  me. 

Most  young  ladies  would  have  resented  this,  but  Miss 
Laura  only  looked  amused.  "  He  see.iis  beautiful  to 
me,"'  she  said,  gently. 

"H'ni,   because   he's   your 
darting  a  sharp  look  at  me. 
him?" 

"  This  is  his  fii-st  journey  by  rail,  and  he's  a  little 
frightened." 

"  No  wonder.  The  Tjord  only  knows  the  suffering  of 
animals  in  transportation,"  said  the  old  gentleman. 
"  My  dear  young  lady,  if  you  could  see  what  I  have  seen. 


dog,"  said  the  old  man, 
"  What's  the  matter  with 


OUR  JOURNEY   TO    RIVERDAI.E. 


117 


you'd  never  eat  another  bit  of  meat  all  the  days  of  your 
life." 

Miss  Laura  wrinkled  her  forehead.  "  I  know — I  have 
heard,"  she  faltered.     "  It  must  be  terrible." 

"  Terrible — it's  awful,"  said  the  gentlcnmn.  "  Think 
of  the  cattle  on  the  western  plains.  Clicked  with  thir?t 
in  summer,  and  starved  and  frozen  in  winter.  Dehorned 
and  goaded  on  to  trains  and  steamers.  Tossed  about  and 
wounded  and  suffering  on  voyages.  Many  of  them  dying 
and  being  thrown  into  the  sea.  Others  landed  sick  and 
frightened.  Some  of  them  slaughtered  on  docks  and 
wharves  to  keep  them  from  dropping  dead  in  their 
tracks.  What  kind  of  food  does  their  flesh  make?  It's 
rank  poison.  Three  of  my  family  have  died  of  cancer. 
I  am  a  vegetarian." 

The  strange  old  gentleman  darted  from  his  seat,  and 
began  to  pace  up  and  down  the  room.  I  was  very  glad 
he  had  gone,  for  Miss  I^aura  hated  to  hear  of  cr\ielty  of 
any  kind,  and  her  tears  were  dropping  thick  and  fast  on 
my  brown  coat. 

The  gentleman  had  spoken  very  loudly,  and  every  one 
in  the  room  had  listened  to  what  he  said.  Among  them, 
was  a  very  young  man,  with  a  cold,  handsome  face.  He 
looked  as  if  he  was  annoyed  that  tlic  older  man  should 
have  made  Miss  Laura  cry. 

"  Don't  you  think,  sir,"  he  said,  as  tlie  old  gentleman 
passed  near  him  in  walking  up  and  down  the  Hoor, 
"  that  there  is  a  great  leal  of  mock  sentiment  about  this 
business  of  taking  care  of  the  dumb  creation  ?  They 
were  made  for  us.  They've  got  to  suffer  and  be  killed 
to  supply  our  wants.  The  cattle  and  sheep,  and  other 
animals  would  over-run  the  earth,  if  we  didn't  kill 
them." 


I 


:if 


t  I  ! 
s  +  i 


118 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


"  Granted,"  eaid  the  old  man,  stopping  rif.'ht  in  front 
of  him.  "Granted,  young  man,  if  you  take  out  that 
word  suffer.  The  Lord  made  the  sheep,  and  the  cattle, 
and  the  pigs.  They  are  his  creatures  just  as  much  as  we 
are.  We  can  kill  them,  but  we've  no  right  to  make  them 
suffer." 

"  But  we  can't  help  it,  sir. ' 

"  Yes,  we  can,  my  young  man.  It's  a  possible  tniug  to 
raise  healthy  stock,  treat  it  kindly,  kill  it  mercifully,  eat 
it  decently.  When  men  do  that  I,  for  one,  will  cease  to 
be  a  vegetarian.  You're  only  a  boy.  You  haven't  trav- 
eled as  I  have.  I've  been  from  one  end  of  this  country 
to  the  other.  Up  north,  down  south,  and  out  west,  I've 
seen  sights  that  made  me  shudder,  and  I  tell  you  the 
Lord  will  punish  this  great  American  nation  if  it  doesn't 
change  its  treatment  of  the  dumb  animals  committed  to 
its  care." 

The  young  man  looked  thoughtful,  and  did  not  reply. 
A^,very  sweet- faced  old  lady  sitting  near  him,  answered 
the  old  gentleman.  I  don't  think  I  have  ever  seen  such 
a  fine-looking  old  lady  as  she  waa.  Her  hair  was  snowy 
white,  and  her  face  was  deeply  wrinkled,  yet  she  was  tall 
and  stately,  and  her  expression  was  as  pleasing  as  my  dear 
Miss  Laura's. 

"  I  do  not  think  we  are  a  wicked  nation,"  she  said, 
softly.  "  We  are  a  younger  nation  than  many  of  the  na- 
tions of  the  earth,  and  I  think  that  many  of  our  sins 
arise  from  ignorance  and  thoughtlessness." 

"  Yes,  madame,  yes,  madame,"  said  the  fiery  old  gentle- 
man, staring  hard  at  her.     "  I  agree  with  you  there.'' 

She  smiled  very  pleasantly  at  him,  and  went  on.  "  I 
too  have  been  a  traveler,  and  I  have  talked  to  a  great 
many  wise  and  good  people  on  the  subject  of  the  cruel 


OUR   JOURNEY    TO    UIVERPALE. 


no 


••  I 


treatment  of  aiiinia!.-;,  and  I  find  tliat  many  of  them  have 
never  tlioii;j;lit  about  it.  Thoy,  thpih.H.'lvt«,  never  know- 
ingly ill-treat  a  dumb  creature,  and  when  tlioy  arc  told 
stories  of  inhumau  conduct,  they  say  in  surprise,  '  Why, 
tiiese  things  surely  can't  exist ! '  You  see  tliey  have 
never  been  brought  in  contact  with  them.  As  soon  as 
they  learn  about  them,  they  begin  to  agitate  and 
say,  '  We  must  have  this  thing  stopped.  Wiiere  is  tlie 
remedy  ? ' " 

"  And  what  is  it,  what  is  it,  madame,  in  your  opinion  ?  " 
said  the  old  gentleman,  pawing  the  floor  with  impatience. 

"  Just  the  remedy  that  I  would  propose  for  the  great 
evil  of  intemperance,"  said  the  old  hidy  smiling  at  him. 
"  Legislation  and  education.  Legislation  for  the  old  and 
hardened,  and  education  for  the  voung  and  tender.  I 
would  tell  the  schoolboys  and  schoolgirls  that  alcohol  will 
destroy  the  framework  of  their  beautiful  bodies,  and  that 
cruelty  to  any  of  God's  living  creatures  will  bligiit  and 
destroy  their  innocent  young  souls." 

The  young  man  spoke  again.  "  Don't  you  think,"  he 
eaid,  "  that  you  temperance  and  humane  people  lay  too 
ranch  stress  upon  the  education  of  our  youth  in  all  lofty 
and  noble  sentiments?  The  human  heart  will  al\vay?i  be 
wicked.  Your  Bible  tells  you  that,  doesn't  it?  You 
can't  educate  all  the  badness  out  of  children." 

'■  We  don't  expect  to  do  that,"  said  the  old  lady,  turn- 
ing her  pleu-sant  face  toward  liiiii ;  "  but  even  if  the 
human  heart  is  desperately  wicked,  shouldn't  that  make 
us  much  more  eager  to  try  to  educate,  to  ennoble,  and 
restrain  ?  However,  as  far  as  my  experience  goes,  and  I 
have  lived  in  this  wicked  world  for  seveuty-tive  years, 
I  find  that  the  human  heart,  though  wicked  and  cruel 
as  you  say,  has  yet  some  soft  and  tender  spots,  and  the 


120 


BEAUTIFUL   JOK. 


J  i;i 


impressions  made  upon  it  in  youth  are  never,  never  ef- 
faced. Do  you  not  remember  better  than  anyining  else, 
standing  at  your  mother's  knee — the  pressure  of  her 
band,  her  kiss  on  your  forehead?" 

By  this  time  our  engine  hud  arrived.  A  whistle  was 
blowing,  and  nearly  every  one  was  rushing  from  the 
room,  the  impatient  old  gentleman  among  the  first.  Miss 
Laura  was  hurriedly  trying  to  do  up  her  shawl  strap, 
and  I  was  standing  by,  wishing  that  I  could  help  her. 
The  old  lady  and  the  young  man  were  the  only  other 
people  in  the  room,  and  we  could  not  help  hearing  what 
they  said. 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  he  said  in  a  thick  voice,  and  his  face  got 
very  red.     "  She  is  dead  now — I  have  no  mother." 

*'  Po  r  boy ! "  and  the  old  lady  laid  her  hand  on  his 
shoulder.  They  were  standing  up,  and  she  was  taller 
than  he  was.  "  May  God  bless  you.  I  know  you  have  a 
kind  heart.  I  have  four  stalwart  l)oys,  and  you  remind 
me  of  the  youngest.  If  you  arc  ever  in  Washington,  come 
to  see  me."  She  gave  him  some  name,  and  he  lifted  )  iS 
hat  and  looked  as  if  he  was  astonished  to  find  out  who 
she  was.  Then  he  too  went  away,  and  she  turned  to  Miss 
Laura.     "  Shall  I  help  you,  my  dear?  " 

"  If  you  please,"  said  my  young  mistress.  "  I  can't 
fasten  this  strap." 

In  a  few  seconds  the  bundle  was  done  up,  and  we  were 
joyfully  hastening  to  the  train.  It  w.is  only  a  few  miles 
to  Riverdale,  so  the  conductor  let  me  stay  in  the  car  with 
Miss  Laura.  She  spread  her  coat  out  on  the  seat  in  front 
of  her,  and  I  sat  on  it  and  looked  out  of  the  car  window  as 
we  sped  along  through  a  lovely  country,  all  green  and 
fresh  in  the  June  sunlight.  How  light  and  pleasant  this 
car   was — so   dificrent   from   the  baggage  car.      What 


OUR  JOURNEY  TO    RIVERDALE. 


121 


irighton^  un  niiimul  most  of  ail  things,  is  not  to  sec  \vlii:re 

it  is  going,  not  to  know  wiitit  is  going  to  happen  to  it.      1 

tiiink    thut   they   are   very    liku    human    beingd  in  tbia 

rcripect. 

The  ludv  had  taken  a  scat  beside  ^liss  Laura,  and  ad 

we  went  along,  she  too  looked  out  of  the  window  and  said 

iu  a  low  voice : 

"  Wliut  is  8o  rure  as  a  dny  in  Juno, 
Then,  if  ever,  coino  perfect  days." 

"That  is  very  true,'"  said  Miss  Laura,  "  iiow  sad  that 
the  autumn  must  come,  and  the  cold  winter." 

"No,  my  dear,  not  sad.  It  is  but  a  preparation  for 
another  summer." 

"  Yes,  1  suppose  it  is,"  said  Miss  Laura.  Tiien  she 
continued  a  little  shyly,  as  her  companion  leaned  over 
to  stroke  my  cropped  ears :  "  You  seem  very  fond  of 
animals." 

"I  am,  my  dear.  I  have  four  horses,  two  cows,  a  tame 
.squirrel,  three  dogs,  and  a  cat." 

"Y'oa  should  be  a  happy  woman,"  said  Miss  Laura, 
with  a  smile. 

"  I  think*  I  am.  I  must  not  forget  my  horned  toad, 
Diego,  that  1  got  in  California.  I  keep  him  in  the  green- 
house, and  he  is  very  happy  catching  flies  and  holding  his 
horny  head  to  be  scratched  whenever  any  one  comes 
near." 

"I  don't  see  bow  any  one  can  be  unkind  to  animals," 
said  Miss  Laura,  thoughtfully. 

"  Nor  I,  my  dear  child.  It  has  always  caused  me 
intense  pain  to  witness  the  torture  of  dumb  animals. 
Nearly  seventy  years  ago,  when  I  was  a  little  girl  walk- 
ing the  streets  of  Boston,  I  would  tremble  and  grow  faint 
at  the  cruelty  of  drivers  to  over-loaded  horses.    I  was 


122 


nE.ujTiKi:i.  JOE. 


timid  and  did  not  <liire  ?\)Cttk  to  tlicni.  Very  often,  I  ran 
humc  iitid  flung  niysclt'in  iiiy  niiithcr'H  arniH  with  a  IxiPHt 
of  tears,  and  asked  hor  it'  iiotliiiig  could  he  done;  to  iielp 
tlio  poor  animals.  With  inistukon,  motherly  kindnesH, 
phc  tried  to  put  the  subject  out  of  my  thoughts.  I  was 
carif'ully  guarded  i'nnu  sooiiig  or  hearing  of  any  instances 
of  cruelty.  But  the  animals  went  on  sutiering  just  the 
Bamc,  and  when  I  became  a  woman,  1  saw  my  cowardice. 
I  agitated  the  matter  among  my  friends,  and  told  thena 
that  our  whole  dumb  creation  \\i\s  uiipimiug  together  in 
pain,  and  would  continue  to  groan,  unless  merciful  human 
beings  were  willing  to  hel[)  them,  I  was  able  to  assist  in 
the  formation  of  several  societies  for  the  prevention  of 
crueltv  to  auiujals,  and  thev  have  done  cood  service. 
Good  service  not  only  to  the  horses  and  cows,  but  to  the 
nobler  animal,  man.  I  believe  that  in  saying  to  a  cruel 
man,  *  You  shall  not  overwork,  torture,  mutilate,  or  kill 
your  animal,  or  neglect  to  provide  it  with  proper  food 
and  shelter,'  we  are  making  him  a  little  near  r  the  king- 
dom of  heaven  than  he  was  before.  For,  '  \V  uaisoever  a 
man  soweth,  that  shall  he  also  reap.'  If  he  sows  seeds  of 
unkindness  and  cruelty  to  man  and  beast,  no  one  knows 
what  the  blackness  of  the  harvest  will  be.  His  poor 
horse,  (juivering  under  a  blow,  is  not  tiie  worse  sufl'crer. 
Oh,  if  people  would  only  understand  that  their  unkind 
deeds  will  recoil  upon  their  own  heads  with  tenfold  force 
— but,  my  dear  child,  I  am  fancying  that  I  am  address- 
ing a  drawing-room  meeting — and  here  we  are  at  your 
station.  Good-bye ;  keep  your  happy  face  and  gentle 
ways.  I  hope  that  we  may  meet  again  some  day."  She 
pressed  Miss  Laura's  hanil,  gave  me  a  farewell  pat,  and 
the  next  minute  we  were  out.«^ide  on  the  platform,  and  she 
was  smiling  through  the  window  at  us. 


1,, 


CHAPTKli   XVL 


DIN(JLEY    FAUM. 

Y  dour  iiioce,"  ami  a  stout,  iiiiddlo-agcd  woman, 
witli  a  red,  lively  face,  threw  both  her  aiiii.>) 
around  Mis.s  Laura,  "  IIow  ^dad  I  am  to  si'c 
you,  and  this  is  the  d(j!.'.  Good  Joe,  I  have  a  hone  wait- 
ing for  you.     Here  is  Uncle  John." 

A  tall,  good-look  injjj  man  stepped  up  and  put  out  a  hijj 
hand,  in  which  my  mistress'  little  fingers  were(|uite  swal- 
lowed up.  "I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Laura.  Well,  Jo<', 
how  d'ye  do,  old  boy?     I've  heard  about  you." 

It  made  me  feel  very  welcome  to  have  them  both  notice 
me,  and  I  was  so  glad  to  be  out  of  the  train  that  I  frisked 
for  joy  around  their  feet  as  we  went  to  the  wagon.  It 
was  a  big  double  one,  with  an  awning  over  it  to  shelter 
from  the  sun's  rays,  and  the  horses  wore  drawn  up  in  the 
shade  of  a  spreading  tree.  Tliey  were  two  powerful  black 
horses,  and  as  they  had  no  blinders. on,  they  could  see  us 
coming.  Their  faces  lighted  up,  and  they  moved  their 
ears,  and  pawed  the  ground,  and  whinnied  when  Jlr. 
Wood  went  up  to  them.  They  tried  to  rub  their  heads 
against  him,  and  I  saw  plainly  that  tiiey  loved  him. 
"  Steady  there,  Cleve  and  Pacer,"  he  said,  "  now  back, 
back  up." 

By  this  tinie,  Mrs.  Wood,  Miss  Laura,  and  I  were  in 
the   wagou.     Then  Mr.  Wood  jumped  in,  took   up  the 

128 


124 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


reins,  and  off  we  went.  How  the  two  black  horses  did 
spin  along  I  I  sat  on  the  sent  beside  Mr.  Wood,  and 
8uiifed  in  tlie  delicious  air,  and  the  lovely  smell  of  flowers 
and  grass.  How  glad  I  was  to  be  in  the  country !  What 
long  races  I  should  have  in  the  green  fields.  I  wished 
that  1  had  another  dog  to  run  with  me,  and  wondered 
very  much  whether  Mr.  Wood  kept  one.  I  knew  I 
should  soon  find  out,  for  whenever  Miss  Laura  went  to  a 
place  she  wanted  to  know  what  animals  there  were  about. 

We  drove  a  little  more  than  a  mile  along  a  country 
road  where  there  were  scattered  houses.  Miss  Laura 
answered  questions  about  her  family,  and  asked  questions 
about  Mr.  Harry,  who  was  away  at  college  and  hadn't 
got  home.  I  don't  think  I  have  said  before  that  Mr. 
Harry  was  Mrs.  Wood's  son.  She  wa?  a  widow  with  one 
son  when  she  married  Mr.  Wood,  so  that  Mr.  Harry, 
though  the  Morrises  called  him  cousin,  was  not  really 
their  cousin. 

I  was  very  glad  to  hear  them  say  that  he  vas  soon 
coming  home,  for  I  hud  never  forgotten  that  but  for  him 
I  should  never  have  known  Miss  Laura,  and  gotten  into 
my  pleasant  home. 

By-and-by,  I  heard  Miss  Laura  say :  "  Uncle  John, 
have  you  a  dog  ? " 

"  Yes,  Laura,"  he  said,  "  I  have  one  to-day,  but  I  sha'n't 
have  one  to-morrow." 

"Oh,  uncle,  what  do  you  mean?"  she  asked. 

"Well,  Laura,"  he  replied,  "you  know  animals  are 
pretty  much  like  people.  There  are  some  good  ones  and 
some  bad  ones.  Now  this  dog  is  a  snarling,  cross-grained, 
cantankerous  beast,  and  when  I  heard  Joe  was  coming,  I 
said :  '  Now  we'll  have  u  good  dog  about  the  place,  and 
here's  an  end  to  the  bad  one.'    So  I  tied  Bruno  up,  and 


DINQLEY    FARM. 


125 


to-morrow  I  sliall  shoot  him.    Something's  got  to  be  done 


or 


he'll  be  biting  some  one. 


"  Uncle,"  said  Miss  Laura,  "  people  don't  always  die 
when  they  are  bitten  by  dogs,  do  they?" 

"  No,  certainly  not,"  replied  Mr.  Wood.  "  In  my  luim- 
blo  opinion  there's  a  great  lot  of  nonsense  talked  about 
the  poison  of  a  dog's  bite  and  people  dying  of  iiydroplio- 
bia.  Ever  since  I  was  born  I've  had  dogs  snap  at  me, 
and  stick  their  teeth  in  my  flesh ;  and  I've  never  had  a 
symptom  of  hydrophobia,  and  never  intend  to  have.  I 
believe  half  the  people  that  are  bitten  by  dogs  frighten 
themselves  into  thinking  they  arc  fatally  poisoned.  I  was 
reading  the  other  day  about  the  policemen  in  a  big  city 
in  England  that  have  to  catch  stray  dogs,  and  dogs  sup- 
posed to  be  mad,  and  all  kinds  of  dogs,  and  they  get  bit- 
ten over  and  over  again,  and  never  think  anything  about 
it.  But  let  a  lady  or  gentleman  walking  along  the  street 
have  a  dog  bite  them,  and  they  worry  themselves  till 
their  blood  is  in  a  fever,  and  they  have  to  hurry  across  to 
France  to  get  Pasteur  to  cure  them.  They  imagine 
they've  got  hydrophobia,  and  they've  got  it  because  they 
imagine  it.  I  believe  if  I  fixed  my  attention  on  that 
right  thumb  of  mine,  and  thought  I  had  a  sore  there,  and 
picked  at  it  and  worried  it,  in  a  short  time  a  sore  would 
come,  and  I'd  be  otf  to  the  doctor  to  have  it  cured  At 
the  same  time,  dogs  have  no  business  to  bite,  and  I  don't 
recommend  any  one  to  get  bitten." 

"  But;  uncle,"  said  Miss  Laura,  "  isn't  there  such  a 
thing  as  hydrophobia?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  dare  say  there  is.  I  believe  that  a  careful 
examination  of  the  records  of  deaths  reported  in  Boston 
from  hydrophobia  for  the  space  of  thirty-two  years,  shows 
that  two  people  actually  died  from  it.     Dogs  are  like  all 


12B 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


other  animnl^.  They're  liable  to  sicknpss,  and  they've 
got  to  be  watched.  I  tliink  ray  horsra  would  go  mad 
if  I  starved  them,  or  over-fed  them,  or  over-worked  them, 
or  let  them  stand  in  laziness,  or  kept  them  dirty,  or  didn't 
give  them  water  enough.  They'd  get  some  disease,  any- 
way. If  a  person  owns  an  animal,  let  him  take  care  of  it, 
and  it's  all  right.  If  it  shows  signs  of  sickness,  shut  it 
up  and  watch  it.  If  the  sickness  is  incurable,  kill  it. 
Here's  a  sure  way  to  prevent  hydrophobia.  Kill  off  all 
ownerless  and  vicious  dogs.  If  you  can't  do  that,  have 
plenty  of  water  where  they  can  get  at  it.  A  dog  that  haa 
all  the  water  he  wants,  will  never  go  mad.  This  dog  of 
mine  has  not  one  single  thing  the  matter  with  him  but 
pure  ugliness.  Yet,  if  I  let  him  loose,  and  he  ran  through 
the  village  with  his  tongue  out,  I'll  warrant  you  there'd 
be  a  cry  of  *  mad  dog.'  However,  I'm  going  to  kill  hira. 
I've  no  use  for  a  bad  dog.  Have  plenty  of  animals,  I 
sav,  and  treat  them  kindly,  but  if  there's  a  vicious  one 
among  them,  put  it  out  of  the  way,  for  it  is  a  constant 
danger  to  man  and  beast.  It's  queer  how  ugly  some  peo- 
ple are  about  their  dogs.  They'll  keep  them,  no  matter 
how  they  worry  other  people,  and  even  when  they'ie 
snatching  the  bread  out  of  their  neighbors'  mouths.  But 
I  say  that  is  nut  the  fault  of  the  four-legged  dog.  A  hu- 
man dog  is  the  worst  of  all.  There's  a  band  of  sheep- 
killing  dogs  here  in  Riverdale,  that  their  owners  can't, 
or  won't,  keep  out  of  mischief.  Meek-looking  fellows 
some  of  them  are.  The  owners  go  to  bed  at  night,  and 
tlie  dogs  pretend  to  go  too,  but  when  the  house  is  quiet 
and  the  family  asleep,  off  goes  Rover  or  Fido  to  worry 
poor,  defenseless  creatures  that  can't  defend  themselves. 
Their  taste  for  sheeps'  blood  is  like  the  taste  for  liquor  in 
men,  and  the  dogs  will  travel  as  far  to  get  their  fun,  as 


DINGI.EY    FARM. 


127 


the  men  will  travel  for  theira.  They've  got  it  in  thera, 
and  you  can't  get  it  out." 

"Mr.  Windham  cured  his  dog,"  said  Mrs.  Wood. 

Mr.  Wood  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh.  "  St)  he  did,  so 
he  did.  I  must  tell  Laura  about  that.  Windham  is  a 
neighbor  of  ours,  and  last  summer  1  kept  telling  him 
that  his  collie  was  worrying  my  Shropshires.  He  wouldn't 
believe  me,  but  I  knew  1  was  right,  and  one  night  when 
Harry  was  home,  he  lay  in  wait  for  the  dog  and  lassoed 
bim.  I  tied  him  up  and  sent  for  Windham.  You  should 
have  seen  his  face,  and  the  dog's  face.  He  said  two  words, 
'  You  scoundrel ! '  and  the  dog  cowered  at  his  feet  as  if 
he  had  been  shot.  He  was  a  fine  dog,  but  he'd  got  cor- 
rupted by  evil  companions.  Then  Windham  asked  me 
where  my  sheep  were.  I  told  him  in  the  pa^ure.  Ho 
asked  me  if  I  still  had  my  old  ram  Bolton.  I  said  ye.s, 
aiid  then  he  wanted  eight  or  ten  feet  of  rope.  I  gave  it 
to  him,  and  wondered  what  on  earth  he  was  going  to  do 
with  it.  He  tied  one  end  of  it  to  the  dog's  collar,  and 
holding  tne  other  in  his  hand,  set  out  for  the  pasture. 
He  asked  us  to  go  with  him,  and  when  he  got  there,  he 
told  Harry  he'd  like  to  see  him  catch  Bolton.  There 
wasn't  any  need  to  catch  him,  he'd  come  to  us  like  a 
dog.  Harry  whistled,  and  when  Bolton  came  up,  Wind- 
ham fastened  the  rope's  end  to  his  horns,  and  let  him  go. 
The  ram  was  frightened  and  ran,  dragging  the  dog  with 
him.  We  let  thera  out  of  the  pasture  into  an  open  field, 
and  for  a  few  minutes  there  was  such  a  racing  and  chas- 
ing over  that  field  as  I  never  saw  before.  Hai'ry  leaned 
up  against  the  bars  and  laughed  till  the  tears  rolled 
down  his  cheeks.  Then  Bolton  got  mod,  and  began  to 
make  battle  with  tiie  dog,  pitching  into  him  with  his 
horns.    We  soon  stopped  that,  for  the  spirit  had  al^  /one 


128 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


out  of  Dasb.  Windham  unfastened  tlie  rope,  and  told  liirn 
to  get  home,  and  if  ever  I  saw  a  dog  run,  that  one  did. 
Mrs.  Windham  set  great  store  by  him,  and  her  husbanu 
didn't  want  to  kill  him.  But  ho  said  Dash  had  got  to 
give  up  his  8hee]>-killing,  if  he  wanted  to  live.  That  cured 
him.  He's  never  worried  a  sheep  from  that  day  to  this, 
and  if  you  offer  him  a  bit  of  sheep's  wool  now,  he  tucks 
his  tail  between  his  legs,  and  runs  for  home.  Now  I  must 
stop  my  talk,  for  we're  in  sight  of  the  farm.  Yonder'a 
our  boundary  line,  and  there's  the  house.  You'll  see  a 
difference  in  the  trees  since  you  were  here  before." 

We  had  come  to  a  turn  iu  the  road  where  the  ground 
sloped  gently  upward.  We  turned  in  at  the  gate,  and 
drove  between  rows  of  trees  up  to  a  long,  low,  red  house, 
with  a  veranda  all  round  it.  There  was  a  wide  lawn  in 
front,  and  away  on  our  right  were  the  farm  buildings. 
They  too,  were  painted  red,  and  there  were  some  trees  by 
them  that  Mr.  Wood  called  his  windbreak,  because  they 
kept  the  snow  from  drifting  in  the  winter  time. 

*I  thought  it  was  a  beautiful  place.  Miss  Laura  had 
been  here  before,  but  not  for  some  years,  so  she  too  was 
looking  about  quite  eagerly. 

"  Welcome  to  Dingley  Farm,  Joe,"  said  Mrs.  Wood, 
with  her  jolly  laugh,  as  she  watched  me  jump  from  the 
carriage  seat  to  the  ground.  "  Come  in,  and  I'll  introduce 
you  to  Pussy." 

"Aunt  Hattic,  why  is  the  farm  called  Dingley  Farm?  " 
said  Miss  Laura,  as  we  went  into  the  house.  "  It  ought 
to  be  Wood  Farm." 

"  Dingley  is  made  out  of  '  dingle,'  Laura.  You  know 
that  pretty  hollow  back  of  the  pasture?  It  is  what  they 
call  a  '  dingle.'  So  this  farm  was  called  Dingle  Farm 
till  the  people  around  about  got  saying '  Dingley  '  instead. 


» 


DTXGLEY    FARM. 


120 


I  suppose  they  found  it  easier.  Why  here  ia  Lolu  coining 
to  366  Joe." 

Walking  along  the  wide  hall  that  ran  through  the 
house  was  a  large  tortoise-shell  cut  She  liad  a  prettily 
marked  face,  and  she  was  waving  her  large  tail  like  a 
flag,  and  mewing  kindly  to  greet  her  mistress.  But  when 
she  saw  me  what  a  face  she  made.  She  flew  on  the  hall 
table,  and  putting  up  her  buck  till  it  almost  lifted  her 
feet  from  the  ground,  began  to  spit  at  mc  and  bristle  with 
rage. 

"  Poor  IjoIo,"  said  Mrs.  Wood,  going  up  to  her.  "  Joe 
is  a  good  dog,  and  not  like  Bruno.     He  won't  hurt  you." 

I  wagged  myself  about  a  little,  and  looked  kindly  at 
her,  but  she  did  nothing  but  suy  bad  words  to  me.  It 
was  weeks  and  weeks  before  I  made  friends  with  that  cat. 
She  waa  a  young  thing,  and  had  known  only  one  dog, 
and  he  was  a  bad  one,  so  she  supposed  all  dogs  were  like 
him. 

There  was  a  number  of  rooms  opening  off  the  hall,  and 
one  of  them  was  the  dining  room  where  they  had  tea.  1 
lay  on  a  rug  outside  the  door  and  watched  them.  There 
was  a  small  table  spread  with  a  white  cloth,  and  it  had 
pretty  dishes  and  glassware  on  it,  and  a  good  many  dif- 
ferent kinds  of  things  to  cat.  A  little  French  girl,  called 
Ad^Ie,  kept  coming  and  going  from  the  kitchen  to  give 
V.\em  hot  cakes,  and  fried  eggs,  and  hot  coffee.  As  soon 
as  they  finished  their  tea,  Mrs.  Wood  gave  me  one  of  the 
best  meab  that  1  ever  had  in  my  life. 


CHAPIER  XVII 


m 


MR   WOOD   AND    IIIS   HORSES. 

I  HE  morning  after  we  arrived  in  Riverdale,  I  waa 
up  very  early  and  walking  around  the  house.  I 
slept  in  the  woodshed,  and  could  run  outdoors 
whenever  I  liked. 

The  woodshed  waa  at  the  back  of  the  house,  and  near 
it  was  the  tool  shed.  Then  there  was  a  carriage  house, 
and  a  plank  walk  leading  to  the  barnyard. 

1  ran  up  this  walk,  and  looked  into  the  first  building 
I  came  to.  It  was  the  horse  stable.  A  door  stood  open, 
and  the  morning  sun  was  glancing  in.  There  were  sev- 
eral horses  there,  some  with  their  heads  toward  ma,  and 
some  with  their  tails.  I  saw  tluit  instead  of  being  tied 
up,  there  were  gates  outsi«le  their  stalls,  and  they  could 
stand  in  any  way  they  liked. 

There  was  a  man  moving  about  at  tiie  other  end  of 
the  stable,  and  long  before  he  saw  me,  1  knew  that  it  was 
Mr.  Wood.  What  a  nice,  clean  stable  he  had !  There 
was  always  a  foul  smell  coming  out  of  Jenkins's  stable, 
but  here  the  air  seemeu  as  pure  inside  as  outside.  There 
was  a  number  of  little  gratings  in  the  wall  to  let  in  the 
fresh  air,  and  they  were  so  placed  that  drafts  would  not 
blow  on  the  horses.  Mr.  Wood  was  going  from  one  horse 
to  another,  giving  them  hay,  and  talking  to  them  in  a 
180 


MR.    WOOD   AND    HIS   HORSES. 


131 


cheerfiil  voice.  At  last  he  spied  me,  and  cried  out,  "  The 
top  of  the  luoriiing  to  you,  Joe !  You  are  up  early. 
Don't  come  too  near  the  horses,  good  dog,"  as  1  alked 
in  beside  him  ;  ''  they  might  think  you  are  another  Bruno, 
and  give  you  a  sly  bite  or  kick.  I  should  have  shot  him 
long  ago.  'Tis  hard  to  make  a  good  dog  suffer  for  a  bad 
one,  but  that's  the  way  of  the  world.  Well,  old  fellow, 
what  do  you  think  of  my  horse  stable?  Pretty  fair,  isn't 
It  ?  "  And  Mr.  Wood  went  on  talking  to  me,  as  he  fed  and 
groomed  his  horses,  till  I  soon  found  out  that  his  chief 
pride  was  in  them. 

I  like  to  have  human  beings  talk  to  me.  Mr.  Morris 
often  reads  his  sermons  to  me,  and  Miss  Laura  tells  me 
secrets  that  I  don't  think  she  would  tell  to  any  one  else. 

I  watched  Mr.  Wood  carefully,  while  he  groomed  a 
huge,  gray  cart-horse,  that  he  called  Dutchman.  He  took 
a  brush  in  his  right  hand,  and  a  curry-comb  in  his  left, 
and  he  curried  and  brushed  every  part  of  the  horse's  skin, 
and  afterward  wiped  him  with  a  cloth.  "A  good  groom- 
ing is  equal  to  two  quarts  of  oats,  Joe,"  he  said  to  me. 

Then  he  stooped  down  and  examined  the  horse's  hoofs. 
*'  Your  shoes  are  too  heavy,  Dutchman,"  he  said ;  "  but  that 
pig-headed  blacksmith  thinks  he  knows  more  about  horses 
than  I  do.  '  Don't  cut  the  sole  nor  the  frog,'  I  say  to 
him.  '  Don't  pare  the  hoof  so  much,  and  don't  rasp  it ; 
and  fit  your  shoe  to  the  foot,  and  not  the  foot  to  the  shoe,* 
and  he  looks  as  if  he  a,  anted  to  sav,  '  Mind  ^our  own  busi- 
ness.'  We'll  i?ot  go  to  him  again.  '  'Tis  hard  to  teach  an 
old  dog  new  tricks.*  I  got  you  to  work  for  me,  not  to 
wear  out  your  strength  in  lifting  about  his  weighty 
shoes.'* 

Mr.  Wood  stopped  talking  for  a  few  minutes,  and  whis- 
tled a  tune.    Then  he  began  again.    "  I've  made  a  study 


1.32 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


f  !  i 

In 


of  liorH'>8,  .Joe.  Over  forty  years  I'vr  studied  them,  and 
it's  my  opinion  that  the  average  horse  knowa  more  than 
the  average  man  that  dris'es  him.  When  I  think  of  the 
stupid  fools  that  are  goading  patient  horses  about,  beating 
them  and  misunderstandmg  them,  and  thinkmg  they  are 
only  clods  of  earth  with  a  little  life  in  them,  I'd  like  to 
take  their  horses  out  of  the  shafts  and  harness  them  in, 
and  I'd  trot  them  off  at  a  pace,  and  slash  them,  and  jerk 
them,  till  I  guess  they'd  come  out  with  a  little  less  patience 
than  the  animal  does. 

"  Look  at  this  Dutchman — see  the  size  of  him.  You'd 
think  he  hadn't  any  more  nerves  than  a  bit  of  granite. 
Yet  he's  got  a  skin  as  sensitive  as  a  girl  s.  See  how  he 
quivers  if  I  run  the  curry-comb  too  harshly  over  him. 
The  idiot  I  got  him  from,  didn't  know  what  was  the  mat- 
ter with  him.  He'd  bought  him  for  a  reliable  horse,  and 
there  he  was,  kicking  and  stamping  whenever  the  boy 
went  near  him.  '  Your  boy's  got  too  heavy  a  hand.  Dea- 
con Jones,'  said  I,  when  he  described  the  horse's  actions  ta 
me.  •  You  may  depend  upon  it,  a  four-legged  creature, 
unlike  a  two-legged  one,  has  a  reason  for  everytinng  ho 
does.'  'But  he's  only  a  draught  horse,'  said  Deacon 
.Toaes.  *  Draught  horse  or  no  draught  horse,'  said  I, 
'  you're  describing  a  horse  with  a  tender  skin  to  me,  and 
I  don't  care  if  he's  as  big  as  an  elephant.*  Well,  the  old 
man  grumbled  and  said  he  didn't  want  any  thoroughbred 
airs  in  his  stable,  so  I  bought  you,  didn't  I,  Dutchman?" 
and  Mr.  Wood  stroked  him  kindly  and  went  to  the  next 
Btall. 

In  each  stall  was  a  small  tank  of  water  with  a  sliding 
cover,  and  I  found  out  afterward  that  these  covers  were 
put  on  when  a  horse  came  in  too  heated  to  have  a  drink. 
At  any  other  time,  he  could  drink  all  Le  liked.     Mr. 


MIU    WUOD  ASD   aib    UoiUl^.H. 


\:vi 


Wood  believed  in  having  plenty  of  pure  water  /or  nil  his 
animals,   and   they   ail    had   their   own   place  jt  a 

drinlc. 

Even  I  had  a  little  bowl  of  water  in  the  woodshed, 
though  I  could  easily  have  run  up  to  the  barnyard  when 
I  wanted  a  drink.  As  soon  as  I  came,  Mrs.  Wood  asked 
Adele  to  keep  it  there  for  me,  and  wht-u  1  looked  up 
gratefully  at  her,  she  said :  "  Every  animal  should  have 
its  own  feeding  place  and  its  own  sleeping  place,  Joe,  that 
is  only  fair." 

The  next  horses  Mr.  Wood  groomed  were  the  black 
ones,  Cleve  and  Pacer.  Pacer  had  something  wrong 
with  his  mouth,  and  Mr.  Wood  turned  back  his  lips  and 
examined  it  carefully.  This  he  was  able  to  do,  for  there 
were  large  windows  in  the  stable  and  it  was  as  light  as 
Mr.  Wood's  house  was. 

"  No  dark  corners  here,  eh  Joe  ?  "  said  Mr.  Wood,  as 
he  came  out  of  the  stall  and  passed  me  to  get  a  bottle 
from  a  shelf.  "  When  this  stable  was  built,  I  said  no 
dirt  holes  for  careless  men  here.  I  want  the  sun  to  shine 
in  the  corners,  and  I  don't  want  my  horses  to  smell  bad 
smells,  for  they  hate  them,  and  I  don't  want  them  start- 
ing when  they  go  into  the  light  of  day,  just  because 
they'v  i  been  kept  in  a  black  hole  of  a  stable,  and  Pve 
never  uad  a  sick  hoi-se  yet." 

He  poured  something  from  the  bottle  into  a  saucer, 
and  went  back  to  Pacer  with  it.  I  followed  him  and 
stood  outside.  Mr.  Wood  seemed  to  be  washing  a  sore 
in  the  horse's  mouth.  Pacer  winced  a  little,  and  Mr. 
Wood  said:  "Steady,  steady,  my  beauty,  'twill  soon  be 
over." 

The  horse  fixed  his  intelligent  eyes  on  his  master  and 
looked  as  if  he  knew  that  he  was  trying  to  do  him  good. 


134 


BKAUTIFUL  JOE. 


<  'in 


"Just  look  at  these  lips,  Joe,"  said  Mr.  Wood,  "deli- 
cate uiiil  tine  like  our  own,  and  yet  there  are  brutes  that 
will  jerk  them  as  if  they  were  made  of  iron.  1  wish  the 
Ix>id  would  give  horses  voices  just  for  one  week.  I  tell 
you  they'd  scare  some  of  us.  Now  Pacer,  that 's  over. 
I'm  not  going  to  dose  you  much,  for  I  don't  believe  iu  it. 
If  a  horse  has  got  a  serious  trouble,  get  a  good  horse 
doctor,  say  I.  If  it's  a  simple  thiug,  try  a  simple  remedy. 
There's  been  many  a  good  horse  drugged  and  dosed  to 
death.  Well,  Scamp,  my  beauty,  how  are  you,  this 
morning?" 

In  the  stall  next  to  Pacer,  "wafi  a  small,  jei-black  mare, 
with  a  lean  head,  slender  legs,  and  a  curious  restless 
manner.  She  was  a  regular  greyhound  of  a  horse,  no 
spare  flesh,  yet  wiry  and  able  to  do  a  great  deal  of  work. 
She  was  a  wicked-looking  little  thing,  so  1  thought  I  had 
better  keep  at  a  safe  distance  from  her  heels.    • 

Mr.  Wood  petted  her  a  great  deal,  and  I  saw  that  she 
was  his  favorite.  "  Saucebox,"  he  exclaimed,  when  she 
pretended  to  bite  him,  "  you  know  if  you  bite  me,  I'll 
bite  back  again.  I  think  I've  conquered  you,"  he  said, 
proudly,  as  he  stroked  her  glossy  neck,  "but  what  a 
dance  you  led  me.  Do»you  remember  how  I  bought  you 
for  a  mere  song,  because  you  had  a  bad  habit  of  turning 
around  like  a  flash  in  front  of  anything  that  frightened  you, 
and  bolting  ofl*  the  other  way  ?  And  how  did  I  cure  you, 
my  beauty  ?  Beat  you  and  make  you  stubborn  ?  Not  I. 
I  let  you  go  round  and  round ;  I  turned  you  and  twisted 
you,  the  oflener  the  better  for  me,  till  at  last  I  got  it  into 
your  pretty  head  that  turning  and  twisting  was  addling 
your  brains,  and  vou'd  better  let  me  be  master. 

"You've  minded  me  from  that  day,  haven't  you? 
Horse,  or  man,  or  dog  aren't  much  good  till  they  learn  to 


i 


MR.    W(H)D    AND    II 18    HOR8F». 


135 


oHy,  aud  I've  throwu  you  down,  and  I'll  do  it  !i.^ain  if 
you  bite  luo,  ao  take  car.'." 

.Scamp  tossed  her  pretty  head,  and  took  little  pieec.s  of 
Mr.  Wood's  shirt  sleeve  in  her  mouth,  keeping  her  cun- 
uiug  brown  eye  on  him  lus  if  to  see  how  far  she  couM  go. 
But  she  did  not  bite  him.  I  thiiik  she  loved  him,  l<*r 
when  he  left  her  she  whinnied  shrilly,  and  he  had  to  go 
back  and  stroke  and  caress  her. 

After  that  I  often  used  to  watch  her  as  she  went  about 
the  farm.  She  always  seemed  to  be  tugging  and  striving 
at  her  load,  aud  trying  to  step  out  fast  and  do  a  great 
deal  of  work.  Mr.  Wood  was  usually  driving  her  The 
men  didn't  like  her,  aud  couldn't  manage  her.  She  had 
not  been  properly  broken  in. 

After  Mr.  Wood  finished  his  work  he  went  and  stood 
in  the  doorway.  There  were  six  horses  altogether ! 
Dutchman,  Cleve,  Pacer,  Scamp,  a  bay  mare  called 
Ruby,  and  a  young  horse  belonging  to  Mr.  Harry,  whose 
name  was  Fleetwood. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  them  all  ?  "  said  Mr.  Wood, 
looking  down  at  me.  "A  pretty  fine-looking  lot  of  horses, 
aren't  they?  Not  a  thoroughbred  there,  b"t  worth  as 
much  to  me  as  if  each  had  a  pedigree  as  long  as  this  plank 
walk.  There's  a  lot  of  humbug  about  this  pedigree  busi- 
ness in  horses.  Mine  have  their  manes  and  fails  anyway, 
and  the  proper  use  of  their  eyes  which  is  laore  liberty 
than  some  thoroughbreds  get. 

"  I'd  like  to  see  the  man  that  would  persuade  me  to 
put  blinders  or  check-reins  or  any  other  instrument  of 
torture  on  my  horses.  Don't  the  simpletons  know  that 
blinders  are  the  cause  of — well,  I  wouldn't  like  to  say  how 
many  of  our  accidents,  Joe,  for  fear  you'd  think  me  extrav- 
agant, and  the  check-rein  drags  up  a  horse's  head  out  of 


Il 


136 


BEAUriFUL  JOE. 


Its  fine  natural  curve  ai  d  pros?  nincws,  t)onc>fl,  and  joinU 
together,  till  the  borso  is  \vell-ni!;h  mad.  Ah,  Joe,  this 
is  a  cruel  world  for  man  or  buiuit.  You're  a  standing 
token  of  that,  with  your  niLsHiug  cars  and  tail.  And  now 
I've  got  to  go  an<l  he  criiel,  and  8h(K)t  thnt  dog.  He  must 
bo  disposed  of  before  any  one  else  is  atitir.  How  I  hate 
to  take  life." 

Ue  sauntered  down  the  walk  to  the  tunl  shed,  went  in 
niid  soon  came  out  leading  a  large,  brown  dog  by  a  chain. 
Tiiis  was  Bruno,  lie  wa^  snapping  and  snarling  and 
biting  at  his  ciiain  as  he  went  along,  though  Mr.  Wood  led 
him  very  kindly,  and  when  he  saw  me  he  acted  as  if  he 
could  have  torn  me  to  pieces.  After  Mr.  Wood  took  him 
behind  the  l)arn,  he  came  biU'k  and  got  his  gun.  I  ran 
away  so  that  I  would  not  licur  the  sound  of  it,  for  I  could 
not  help  feeling  sorry  for  Bruno. 

Miss  Laura's  room  was  on  one  side  of  the  house,  and 
in  the  second  story.  There  was  a  little  balcony  out- 
side it,  and  when  I  got  near  I  saw  that  she  was  standing  out 
on  it  wrapped  in  a  shawl.  Her  hair  was  streaming  over 
her  shoulders,  and  she  was  looking  down  into  the  garden 
where  there  were  a  great  many  white  and  yellow  flowers 
in  bloom. 

I  barked,  and  she  looked  at  me.  "  Dear  Old  Joe,  I 
will  get  dressed  and  come  down." 

She  hurried  into  her  room,  and  I  lay  on  the  veranda 
till  I  heard  her  step.  Then  I  jumped  up.  She  unlocked 
the  front  door,  and  we  went  for  a  walk  down  the  lane  to 
the  road  until  we  heard  the  breakfast  bell.  As  soon  as 
we  heard  it  we  ran  back  to  the  house,  and  Miss  Laura 
had  such  an  appetite  for  her  breakfast  that  her  aunt  said 
the  country  had  done  her  good  already. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


MRS.  WOODS   POI'I.rnY. 

IFTER  breakfast   Mrs.  ^  'ood   put  on   a  large 
apron,  and  going  into  tlie  kitchen,  said :  "  ^lavo 
you  any  scraps  for  the  hens,  Ad^le?    Ba  sure 
and  not  give  me  anything  salty." 

The  French  girl  gave  her  a  (M«th  of  food,  then  ^Irs. 
Wood  asked  Miss  Laura  to  go  anu  see  her  chickens,  and 
away  we  went  to  the  poultry  house. 

On  the  way  we  saw  Mr.  Wood.  Pie  was  sitting  on  the 
step  of  the  tool  shed  cleaning  bis  gun.  "Is  the  dog 
dead  ?  "  asked  Miss  Laura. 

"Yes,"  he  said. 

She  sighed  and  said :  "  Poor  creature,  I  am  sorry  he 
had  to  be  killed.  Uncle,  what  is  the  most  merciful  way 
to  kill  a  dog?  Sometimes,  when  tbcyget  old,  they  should 
be  put  out  of  the  way." 

"  You  can  shoot  them,"  he  said,  "  or  you  can  poison 
them.  I  shot  Bruno  through  his  head  into  his  neck. 
There's  a  right  place  to  aim  at.  It's  a  little  one  side  of 
the  top  of  the  skull.  If  you'll  remind  me  I'll  show  you  a 
circular  I  have  in  the  house.  It  tells  the  proper  way  to 
kill  animals.  The  American  Humane  Education  Society 
in  Boston  puts  it  out,  and  it's  a  merciful  thing. 

"  You  don't  know  anything  about  the  slaughtering  of 
animals,  Laura,  and  it's  well  you  don't.    There's  an  aw- 

137 


138 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


§ 


ful  amount  of  cruelty  practised,  and  practised  by  some 
people  that  think  themselves  pretty  good,  I  wouldn't 
have  my  lambs  killed  the  way  my  father  had  his  for  a 
kingdom.  I'!'  never  forget  the  first  one  I  saw  butchered. 
I  wouldn't  £eA  worse  at  a  hanging  now.  And  that  white 
ox,  Ilattie — you  remember  my  telling  you  about  him. 
He  had  to  be  killed,  and  father  sent  for  the  butcher.  I 
was  only  a  lad,  and  I  was  all  of  a  shudder  to  have  the 
life  of  the  creature  I  had  known  taken  from  him.  The 
butcher,  stupid  clown,  gave  him  eight  blows  before  he 
struck  the  right  place.  The  ox  bellowed,  and  turned  his 
great  black  eyes  on  my  father,  and  I  fell  in  a  faint." 

Miss  Laura  turned  away,  and  Mrs.  Wood  followed  her, 
saying :  "  If  ever  you  want  to  kill  a  cat,  Laura,  give  it 
cyanide  of  potassium.  I  killed  a  poor  old  sick  cat  for 
Mrs  Windham  the  other  day.  We  put  half  a  teaspoon- 
ful  of  pure  cyanide  of  potassium  in  a  long-handled  wooden 
spoon,  and  dropped  it  on  the  cat's  tongue,  as  near  the 
throat  as  we  could.  Poor  pussy — she  died  in  a  few  sec- 
onds. Do  you  know,  I  was  reading  such  a  funny  thing 
the  other  day  about  giving  cats  medi<.lne.  They  hate  it, 
and  one  can  scarcely  force  it  into  their  mouths  on  account 
of  their  sharp  teeth.  The  way  is,  to  smear  it  on  their 
sides,  and  they  lick  it  off.  A  good  idea,  isn't  it?  Here 
we  are  at  the  hen  house,  or  rather  one  of  the  hen  houses." 

"Don't  you  keep  your  hens  altogether?"  asked  Miss 
Laura. 

"  Only  in  the  winter  time,"  said  Mrs.  Wood.  "  I  divide 
my  flock  in  the  spring.  Part  of  them  stay  here  and  part 
go  to  the  orchard  to  live  in  little  movable  houses  that  we 
put  about  in  differeait  places.  I  feed  each  flock  morning 
ard  evening  at  their  own  little  house.  They  know  they'll 
get  no  food  even  if  they  come  to  my  house,  so  they  stay 


MRS.    wood's   poultry. 


139 


at  home.  And  they  know  they'll  get  no  food  between 
times,  so  all  day  long  they  pick  and  scratch  iu  the  or- 
chard, and  destroy  so  many  bugs  and  insccUi  that  it  more 
tlian  pays  for  the  trouble  of  keeping  them  there." 

"Doesn't  this  flock  want  to  mix  up  with  the  other?  " 
asked  Miss  Laura,  as  she  stepped  into  the  little  wooden 
house. 

"  No ;  they  seem  to  understand.  I  keep  my  eye  on 
them  for  a  while  at  first,  and  they  soon  find  out  that 
they're  not  to  liy  either  over  the  garden  fence  or  the  or- 
cliard  fence.  They  ro.im  over  the  farm  and  pick  up  what 
they^can  got.  There's  a  good  deal  of  sense  in  hens,  if  one 
manages  them  properly.  I  love  them,  because  the^  .:re 
sucli  good  mothers." 

^Ye  were  in  the  little  wooden  house  by  this  time,  and  I 
looked  around  it  with  surprise.  It  was  better  than  some 
of  the  poor  people's  houses  in  Fairport.  The  walls  were 
white  and  clean.  So  were  the  little  ladders  that  led  up  to 
different  kinds  of  roosts,  wliere  the  fowls  sat  at  night. 
Some  roosts  were  thin  and  round,  and  some  were  broad 
and  flat.  Mrs.  Wood  said  that  the  broad  ones  were  for  a 
heavy  fowl  called  the  Bralmia.  Every  part  of  the  little 
house  was  almost  as  light  as  it  was  out  doors,  on  account 
of  the  large  windows. 

Miss  Laura  spoke  of  it.  "  Why,  auntie,  J.  never  saw 
such  a  light  hen  house." 

Mrs.  Wood  was  diving  into  a  partly  shut-in  place, 
where  it  was  not  so  light,  and  where  the  no:?ts  were.  She 
straightened  herself  up,  her  face  redder  than  ever,  and 
looked  at  the  windows  with  a  plea-scd  smile. 

"  Yes,  there's  not  a  hen  hoii:*e  in  New  Hampshire  with 
such  big  windows.  Whenever  I  look  at  them,  I  think  of 
my  mother's  hens,  and  wish  tha  they  could  have  had  a 


i!i 


ti 


140 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


place  like  this.  They  would  have  thought  themcelves  in 
a  heus'  paradise.  When  1  was  a  girl,  we  didu't  know 
that  hens  loved  light  and  heat,  and  all  winter  they  used 
to  sit  in  a  dark  heucoop,  and  the  cold  was  so  bad  that 
their  combs  would  freeze  stifl",  and  the  tops  of  them  would 
drop  ofT.  We  never  thought  about  it.  If  we'd  had  any 
sense,  we  might  have  watched  them  on  a  tine  day  go  and 
sit  on  the  compost  heap  and  sun  themselves,  and  then 
have  concluded  that  if  they  liked  light  and  heat  outside, 
they'd  like  it  inside.  Poor  biddies,  they  were  so  cold 
that  they  wouldn't  lay  us  any  eggs  in  winter." 

"  You  take  a  great  interest  in  your  poultry,  don't  you, 
auntie  ?  "  said  ]\Iiss  Laura. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  and  well  I  may.  I'll  show  you  my 
brown  Leghorn,  Jenny,  that  lays  eggs  enough  in  a  year 
to  pay  for  the  newspapers  I  take  to  keep  myself  posted  in 
poultry  matters.  I  buy  all  my  own  clothes  with  my  hen 
money,  and  lately  I've  started  a  bank  account,  for  I  want 
to  save  up  enough  to  start  a  few  stands  of  bees.  Even  if 
I  didn't  want  to  be  kind  to  my  hens,  it  would  pay  me  to  be 
80  for  the  sake  of  the  profit  they  yield.  Of  course 
they're  quite  a  lot  of  trouble.  Sometimes  they  get  vermin 
on  them,  and  I  have  to  grease  them  and  dust  carbolic 
acid  on  them,  and  try  some  of  my  numerous  cures.  Then 
1  must  keep  ashes  and  dust  wallows  for  them,  and  be 
very  particular  about  my  eggs  when  hens  are  sitting,  and 
see  that  the  hens  come  off  regularly  for  food  and  exercise. 
Oh,  there  are  a  hundred  things  I  have  to  think  of,  but  I 
always  say  to  any  one  that  thinks  of  raising  poultry :  '  If 
you  are  going  into  the  business  for  the  purpose  of  making 
money,  it  pays  to  take  care  of  them.'  " 

"  There  is  one  thing  I  notice,"  said  Miss  Laura,  "  and 
that  is,  that  your  drinking  fountains  must  be  a  great 


MRS.   wood's  poultry. 


141 


deiil  better  than  the  shallow  pans  that  I  have  seen  some 
pL'uple  give  their  hens  water  in." 

"  Dirty  things  they  are,"  said  Mrs.  Wood ;  "  I  wouldn't 
use  one  of  them.  I  don't  think  there  b  anything  worse 
for  hens  than  drinking  dirty  water.  My  hens  must 
have  as  clean  water  as  I  drink  myself,  and  in  winter  I 
heat  it  for  them.  If  it's  poured  boiling  into  the  foun- 
tains in  the  morning,  it  kecp>i  warm  till  night.  Speaking 
of  shallow  drinking  dLshes,  I  wouldn't  use  them,  even 
before  I  ever  heard  of  a  drinking  fountain.  John  made 
me  something  that  we  read  about.  He  used  to  take  a 
powder  keg  and  bore  a  little  Iiole  in  the  side^  about  an 
inch  from  the  top,  then  fill  it  with  water,  and  cover  with 
a  pan  a  little  larger  round  than  the  keg.  Then  he  turned 
the  keg  upside  down,  without  taking  away  the  pan.  The 
water  ran  into  the  pan  only  aa  far  as  the  hole  in  the  keg, 
and  it  would  have  to  be  used  before  more  would  flow  in. 
Now  let  us  go  and  see  my  beautiful,  bronze  turkeys. 
They  don't  need  any  houses,  for  they  roost  in  the  trees 
the  year  round." 

We  found  the  flock  of  turkeys,  and  Miss  Laura  ad- 
mired their  changeable  colors  very  much.  Some  of  them 
were  very  large,  and  I  did  not  like  them,  for  the  gobblers 
ran  at  me,  and  made  a  dreadful  noise  in  their  throats. 

Afterward,  Mrs.  Wood  showed  us  some  ducks  that  she 
had  shut  up  in  a  yard.  She  said  that  she  was  feeding 
them  on  vegetable  food,  to  give  their  flesh  a  pure  flavor, 
and  by-and-by  she  would  send  them  to  market  and  get  a 
high  price  for  them. 

Every  place  she  took  us  to  was  as  clean  as  possible. 
"No  one  can  be  successful  in  raising  poultry  in  large 
numbers,"  she  said, "  unless  they  keep  their  quarters  clean 
and  comfortable." 


11^ 


142 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


As  yet  we  had  seen  no  hens,  except  a  few  on  the  ne«t8, 
and  Miss  Laura  said, "  Where  are  they?  I  should  like  to 
see  them." 

"  They  are  coming,"  said  Mrs.  Wood.  "  It  is  just  their 
breakfast  time,  and  they  are  as  punctual  as  clockwork. 
They  go  off  early  m  the  morning,  to  scratch  about  a  little 
for  themselves  firat." 

Aq  she  spoke  she  stepped  off  the  plank  walk,  and 
looked  off  toward  the  fields. 

Miss  Laura  burst  out  laughing.  Away  beyond  the 
barns  the  hens  were  coming;  Seeing  Mrs.  Wood  stand- 
ing there,  they  thought  they  were  late,  and  began  to  run 
and  fly,  jumping  over  each  other's  backs,  and  stretching 
out  their  necks,  in  a  state  of  great  excitement.  Some  of 
their  legs  seemed  sticking  straight  out  behind.  It  was 
very  funny  to  see  them. 

They  were  a  fine-looking  lot  of  poultry,  mostly  white, 
with  glossy  feathers  and  bright  eyes.  They  greedily  ate 
the  food  scattered  to  them,  and  Mrs  Wood  said,  ''  They 
thmk  I've  changed  their  breakfast  time,  and  to-morrow 
they'll  come  a  good  bit  earlier.  And  yet  some  people  say 
henp  have  no  semi .' 


t^^^SS^^^^SSSSS^^SS^^SS^^S^^^^^^^^^^^^^S 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


A    BAND  OF    MERCY. 


FEW  evenings  after  we  came  to  Dingley  Farm, 
Mrs.  Wood  and  Miss  Laura  were  sitting  out  on 
the  veranda,  and  I  was  lying  at  their  feet. 

"Auntie,"  said  Miss  Laura,  "what  do  those  letters 
mean  on  that  silver  pin  that  you  wear  with  that  piece  of 
ribbon?" 

"  You  know  what  the  white  ribbon  means,  don't  you  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Wood. 

"  Yes ;  that  you  are  a  temperance  woman,  doesn't  it  ?  " 

"  It  does ;  and  the  star  pm  means  that  I  am  a  member 
of  a  Band  of  Mercy.  Do  you  know  what  a  Baud  of 
Mercy  is  ?  " 

"  Ku,"  said  Miss  Laura. 

"  How  strange !  I  should  think  that  you  would  have 
several  in  Fairport.  A  cripple  boy,  the  son  of  a  Boston 
artist,  started  this  one  here.  It  has  done  a  great  deal  of 
good.  Tliere  is  a  meeting  to-morrow,  and  I  will  take  you 
to  it  if  you  like." 

It  was  on  Monday  that  Mrs.  Wood  had  this  talk  with 
Miss  Laura,  and  the  next  afternoon,  after  all  the  work 
was  done,  they  got  ready  to  go  to  the  village. 

"  May  Joe  go  ?  "  asked  Miss  Laura. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Mrs  Wood  ;  "  he  is  such  a  good  dog 
that  he  won't  be  any  trouble." 

149 


144 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE, 


I  was  very  glad  to  hear  this,  and  trotted  along  by 
them  down  tlie  lane  to  the  road.  The  lane  was  a  very 
cool  and  pleasant  place.  There  were  tall  trees  growing 
on  each  eido,  and  under  them,  among  the  grass,  pretty 
wild  flower:^  wore  peeping  out  to  look  ut  us  as  we  went 
by. 

Mrs.  Wood  and  Miss  Laura  talked  all  the  way  about 
the  Band  of  Mercy.  Miss  Laura  was  much  interested, 
and  said  that  she  would  like  to  start  one  in  Fairport. 

"  It  is  a  very  simple  thing,"  said  Mrs.  Wood.  "  All 
you  have  to  do  is  to  write  the  pledge  at  the  top  of  a  piece 
of  paper :  '  I  will  try  to  be  kind  to  all  harmless  living 
creatures,  and  try  to  protect  them  from  cruel  usage,'  and 
get  thirty  people  to  sign  it.    Tliat  njakes  a  band. 

"  I  have  formed  two  or  three  bands  by  keeping  slips 
of  paper  ready,  and  getting  people  that  come  to  visit  me 
to  sign  them.  I  call  them  '  Corresponding  Bands,'  for 
they  are  too  far  apart  to  meet.  I  send  the  members 
'Band  of  Mercy*  papers,  and  I  get  such  nice  letters 
from  them,  telling  me  of  kind  things  they  do  for  animals. 

"A  Baud  of  Mercy  in  a  place  is  a  splendid  thing. 
There's  the  grea^^cst  diffe/euce  in  Riverdale  since  this  one 
was  started.  A  few  years  ago,  when  a  man  beat  or 
raced  his  horse,  and  any  one  interfered,  he  said :  *  This 
horse  is  mine,  I'll  do  what  I  like  with  him.'  I^Iost  people 
thought  he  was  right,  but  now  they're  all  for  the  poor 
horse,  and  there  isn  t  a  man  anywhere  around  who  would 
dare  to  abuse  any  animal. 

"  It's  all  the  children.  They're  doing  a  grand  work, 
and  I  say  it's  a  good  thing  for  them.  Since  we've  studied 
this  subject,  it's  enough  to  frighten  one  to  read  what  is 
sent  i!s  about  our  American  boys  and  girls.  Do  you 
know,  Laura,  that ',  'th  all  our  brag  about  our  schools  and 


▲   BAND  OF    MRRCY. 


145 


you 
and 


colleges,  that  really  are  wonderful,  we're  turning  out 
more  criminals  tliau  any  other  civilized  country  iu  the 
world,  except  Spain  and  Italy.  The  cause  of  it  is  said  to 
be  lack  of  proper  training  for  the  youth  of  our  land. 
Iinmifjratiou  has  soniethinur  to  do  with  it  too.  We're 
thinking  too  much  about  educating  the  mind,  and  for- 
getting about  the  heart  and  soul.  So  I  say  now,  while 
we've  got  all  our  future  population  in  our  schools,  saints 
and  sinners,  good  people  and  bad  people,  let  us  try  to  slip 
in  something  between  the  geography,  and  history,  and 
grammar  that  will  go  a  little  deeper,  and  touch  them  so 
much  that  when  they  are  grown  up  and  go  out  in  the 
word,  they  will  carry  with  them  lessons  of  love  and  good 
will  to  men. 

"  A  little  child  is  such  a  tender  thing.  You  can  bend 
it  anyway  you  like.  Speaking  of  this  heart  education  of 
children,  as  set  over  against  mind  education,  I  see  that 
many  school-teachers  say  that  there  is  nothing  better  than 
to  give  them  lessons  on  kindness  to  animals.  Children 
who  are  taught  to  love  and  protect  dumb  creatures,  will 
be  kind  to  their  fellow-men  when  they  grow  up." 

I  was  very  much  pleased  with  this  talk  between  Mrs. 
Wood  and  Miss  Laura,  and  kept  close  to  them,  so  that  I 
would  not  miss  a  word. 

As  we  went  along,  houses  began  to  appear  here  and 
there,  set  back  from  the  road  among  the  trees.  Soon 
they  got  quite  close  together,  and  I  saw  some  shops. 

This  was  the  village  of  Kiverdale,  and  nearly  all  the 
buildings  were  along  this  winding  street.  The  river  was 
away  back  of  the  village.  We  had  already  driven  there 
several  times. 

We  pa&sed  the  school  on  our  way.  It  was  a  square, 
\rhite  building,  standing  in  the  middle  of  a  large  yard. 


I! 


i!; 


14G 


UEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


Boys  and  girls  with  their  arnw  full  of  books,  were  hurry- 
ing clown  the  Btcjw,  and  coming  into  the  street.  Two  quite 
bii,'  boys  came  beliind  us,  und  Mrs.  Wood  turned  around 
and  spoke  to  them,  and  asked  if  they  were  going  to  the 
Bund  of  Mercy. 

"  Oh,  yes,  ma'am,"  said  the  younger  one.  "  I've  got  a 
recitation,  don't  you  remember  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  excuse  me  for  forgetting,"  said  Mrs.  Wood, 
witii  her  jolly  laugh.  "And  here  are  Dolly,  and  Jennie, 
and  Martha,"  she  went  on,  as  some  little  girls  came  run- 
ning out  of  a  house  that  we  were  passing. 

The  little  giris  joined  us,  and  looked  so  hard  at  my  head, 
and  stump  of  a  tail,  and  ray  fine  collar,  that  I  felt  quite 
shy,  and  walked  with  my  head  against  Miss  Laura's  dress. 

She  stooped  down  rnd  patted  me,  and  then  1  felt  as  If 
1  didn't  care  how  much  thev  stared.  Miss  Laura  never 
forgot  me.  No  matter  how  earnestly  she  was  talking,  or 
playing  a  game,  or  doing  anything,  she  alwMvs  stopped 
occasionally  to  give  me  a  word  or  look,  to  show  that  she 
knew  I  was  near. 

Mrs.  Wood  paused  in  front  of  a  building  on  the  main 
street.  A  great  many  boys  and  girls  were  going  in,  and 
we  W2nt  with  them.  We  found  ourselves  in  a  large  room, 
with  a  platform  at  one  end  of  it.  There  were  some  chairs 
onthid  platform,  and  a  small  table. 

A  boy  stood  by  this  table  with  his  hand  on  a  bell. 
Presently  he  rang  it,  and  then  every  one  kept  still.  Mrs. 
Wood  whispered  to  Miss  Laura  that  this  boy  was  the 
president  of  the  band,  and  the  young  man  with  the  pale 
face  and  curly  hair  who  sat  in  front  of  him,  was  Mr.  Max- 
well, the  artist's  son,  who  had  formed  this  Band  of  Mercy. 

The  lad  who  presided  had  a  ringing,  pleasant  voice. 
He  said  they  would  begin  their  meeting   by  singing  a 


A    BAND   OF   MERCV. 


147 


I 


hymn,  There  was  an  (jrgan  ncnr  the  platform,  and  a 
young  girl  played  on  it,  while  all  tito  utlier  boys  and  girla 
stood  up,  and  sang  very  sweetly  and  clearly. 

Atlcr  they  had  sung  the  hymn,  the  president  asked  for 
the  report  of  their  hist  meeting. 

A  little  girl,  blushing  and  hanging  her  head,  camefor- 
ward,  and  read  what  was  written  on  a  paper  that  she  held 
in  her  hand. 

The  president  made  some  remarks  after  she  had  iin- 
ished,  and  then  every  one  had  to  vote.  It  was  just  like 
a  meeting  of  grown  people,  and  I  was  surprised  to  see  how 
good  those  children  were.  They  did  not  frolic  nor  laugh, 
but  all  seemed  sober  and  listened  attentively. 

After  the  voting  was  over,  the  president  called  upon 
John  Turner  to  give  a  recitation  This  W(is  the  boy  whom 
we  saw  on  the  way  there.  He  walked  up  to  the  platform, 
made  a  bow,  and  said  that  he  had  learned  two  stories  for 
his  recitation,  out  of  the  paper,  "  Dumb  Animals."  One 
story  was  about  a  horse,  and  the  other  was  abcit  a  dog, 
and  he  thought  that  they  were  two  of  the  best  animal 
stories  on  record.     He  would  tell  the  horse  story  first. 

"  A  man  in  Missouri  had  to  go  to  Nebrask  i  to  see  about 
some  land.  He  went  on  horseback,  on  a  horse  that  he 
had  trained  himself,  and  that  came  at  his  whistle  like  a 
dog.  On  getting  into  Nebraska,  he  came  to  a  place  where 
there  were  two  roads.  One  went  by  a  river,  and  the 
other  went  over  the  hill.  The  man  saw  that  the  travel 
went  over  the  hill,  hut  thought  he'd  take  the  river  road. 
He  didn't  know  that  there  was  a  quicksand  across  it,  and 
that  people  couldn't  use  it  in  spring  and  summer.  There 
used  to  be  a  sign  board  to  tell  strangers  about  it,  but  it 
had  been  taken  away.  The  man  got  ofi*  his  horse  to  let 
him  graze,  and  walked  along  till  he  got  so  far. ahead  of 


]\H 


beai;tiful  joe. 


the  hurse,  that  he  had  to  sit  drwii  and  wait  fur  him.    Sud- 


^■'■■vj 


dcnly  he  found  th 


Hi 


had 


ic  WU.S  <<ii  a  (juicksarK 
Biiuk  iu  the  euikI.  and  he  couhl  iitU  get  them  out.  He 
thr*».  limseif  dortii,  and  wliiatled  for  iiis  liorse,  and 
shouted  for  help,  but  no  one  eiimc.  He  could  hear  Home 
young  people  singing  out  on  the  river,  but  they  could  not 
hear  him.  The  terrible  sand  drew  him  in  almost  to  his 
shoulders,  and  he  thought  he  was  lost.  At  that  moment 
the  horse  came  running  up,  and  stood  by  his  master.  The 
man  was  too  low  down  to  get  hold  of  the  saddle  or  bridle, 
so  he  look  hold  of  the  horse's  tail,  and  told  him  to  go. 
The  horse  gave  an  awful  pull,  and  landed  his  muster  ou 
safe  ground." 

Everybody  clapped  his  hands,  and  stamped  when  this 
story  was  iinished,  and  call  jd  out :  "  The  dog  story — The 
dog  story." 

The  boy  bowed  and  smiled,  and  began  again.  "  You 
all  know  what  a  'round  \ip'  of  cattle  is,  so  1  need  not  ex- 
plain. Once  a  man  down  south  was  going  to  have  one, 
and  he  and  his  boys  and  friends  were  talking  it  over. 
There  was  an  ugly,  black  steer  in  the  herd,  and  they  were 
wondering  whether  their  old,  yellow  dog  would  be  able  to 
manage  him.  The  dog's  name  was  Tige,  and  lay  and 
listened  wisely  to  their  talk.  The  next  day  there  was  a 
scene  of  great  confusion.  The  steer  raged  and  tore  about, 
and  would  allow  no  one  to  come  within  whip  touch  of 
him.  Tige,  who  had  always  been  brave,  skulked  about 
for  a  while,  and  then,  as  if  he  had  got  up  a  liUle  spirit, 
he  made  a  run  at  the  steer.  The  steer  sight'^d  him,  gave 
a  bellow,  and  lowering  his  horns,  ran  at  iilm.  Tige 
turned  tail,  and  the  young  men  that  owned  him  were 
nearly  frantic.  They'd  been  praising  him,  and  thought 
they  were  going  to  have  it  proven  false.  Their  father  called 


M 


A   BAND   OF    MERCY. 


lit) 


one, 
over, 
were 
bleto 
iind 
was  a 
about, 
ich  of 
about 
spirit, 
i:ave 
Tige 
were 
ought 
called 


out:  '  Don't  shoot  Tij^e,  till  you  see  where  he's  ruiiuiuij 
to.'  The  dog  ran  right  to  the  cattle  pen.  The  steer  waa 
so  enraged  that  be  never  noticed  where  he  was  going,  and 
dashed  in  ailer  him.  Tige  leaped  the  wall,  and  came  back 
to  the  gate,  barking  and  yelping  for  the  men  to  come  and 
shut  the  steer  in.  They  shut  the  gate  and  petted  Tige, 
and  bought  him  a  collar  with  a  silver  plate.' 

The  boy  '.vn»  loudly  cheered,  and  went  to  his  seat. 
The  president  said  he  would  like  to  have  remarks  made 
about  these  two  stories. 

Several  children  put  up  their  hands,  and  he  asked  each 
one  to  speak  in  turn.  One  said  that  if  that  man's  horse 
had  had  a  docked  tail,  his  master  wouldn't  have  been 
able  to  reach  it,  and  would  have  perished.  Another  said 
that  if  the  man  hadn't  treated  his  horse  kindly,  he  never 
would  have  cuuie  at  his  wiiistle,  and  stood  over  him  to  sco 
what  he  could  do  to  help  him.  A  tiiird  child  said  that 
the  people  on  tiie  river  weren't  as  quick  at  hearing  the 
voice  of  the  man  in  trouble,  as  the  horse  'vas. 

When  this  talk  waa  over,  the  president  called  for  some 
stories  of  foreign  aninials. 

Another  boy  came  forward,  made  his  l)ow,  and  said,  in 
a  short,  abrupt  voice,  "  My  uncle's  name  is  Henry 
Worthington.  He  is  an  Englishman,  and  once  he  was  a 
soldier  in  India.  One  day  when  he  was  hunting  in  the 
Punjab,  he  saw  a  mother  monkey  carrying  a  little  dead 
baby  monkey.  Six  months  after,  he  was  in  the  same 
jungle.  Saw  same  monkey  still  carrying  dead  baby 
monkey,  all  shriveled  up.  Mother  monkey  loved  her 
baby  monkey,  and  wouldn't  give  it  up." 

The  boy  went  to  his  seat,  and  the  president,  with  a 
queer  look  in  his  face,  said,  "  That's  a  very  good  story, 
Ronald — if  it  is  true." 


150 


BKAIITIFUI,  JOB. 


I  'ill 


Mono  of  the  ciiildrcn  ImiL'ticd,  hut  Mra.  Wood's  face 
got  like  a  red  poppy,  and  Mis.^  Laura  bit  lier  lip,  and 
Mr.  Maxwell  buried  hia  head  iii  his  aruis,  his  whole  irauiu 
shaking. 

The  boy  who  told  the  story  looked  very  angry,  lie 
junii)ed  up  a;^'ain,  "  My  uncle's  a  true  luan,  I'hil.  Dodge, 
and  never  told  a  lie  in  his  lite." 

The  president  remained  standing,  hia  face  a  deep  scar- 
let, and  a  tail  boy  at  the  back  of  the  room  got  up  and 
said,  "  Mr.  Presi<lent,  wiiat  would  be  impossible  in  this 
climate,  miglit  be  possible  in  a  hot  country  like  India. 
Doesn't  heut  sometimes  draw  up  and  preserve  things?  " 

The  president's  face  cleared.  "  Thank  you  for  the  sug- 
gestion," he  said.  "  I  don't  want  to  hurt  anybody's  feel- 
ings ;  but  you  know  there  is  a  rule  in  the  band  that  only 
true  stories  are  to  be  told  here.  We  have  five  more 
minutes 'for  foreign  stories.    Has  any  one  else  one  ?  " 


I 


'M. 


CHAPTEU  XX. 


STORIES  ABOUT  ANIMAIiS. 


SMALL  girl,  with  twinklini?  eyes  an:l  a  merry 
face,  got  up,  just  behind  Miss  Laura,  and  made 
her  way  to  the  front.  "My  dranfaddtt 
says,"  she  began,  in  a  piping  little  voice,  "dtit  wlicu  lie 
was  a  little  boy  his  fadder  brouglit  him  a  little  monkey 
from  de  West  Indies.  De  naughty  boys  in  de  village 
used  to  teaae  do  little  monkey,  and  ho  ruiined  up  a  tree 
one  day.  Dey  was  drowiiig  stones  at  him,  and  a  man  dat 
was  paintin'  de  house  druv  'em  away.  De  monkey 
rnnncd  down  do  tree,  and  ^hooked  hands  wid  de  man. 
My  dranfadder  saw  him,"  she  said,  with  a  shake  of  her 
head  at  the  president,  as  if  she  was  afraid  he  would  doubt 
her. 

There  was  great  laughing  and  clapping  of  hands 
when  this  little  girl  took  her  seat,  and  she  hopped  right 
up  again  and  ran  back.  "  Oh,  I  fordot,"  she  went  on,  ia 
her  squeaky,  little  voice,  "  dat  my  dranfadder  says  dat 
afterward  de  monkey  upset  de  painter's  can  of  oil,  and 
rolled  in  it,  and  den  jumped  down  iu  my  dranfadder'a 
flour  barrel." 

The  president  looked  very  much  amused,  and  said, 
**  We  have  had  some  good  stories  about  monkeys,  now  let 

151 


152 


Br.AUliFl  L   JOK. 


$.^' 


U8  have  sonic  more  about  our  home  animals.     Who  can 
tell  us  another  story  about  a  horse?  " 

Three  or  four  boys  jumped  up,  but  the  president  said 
they  would  take  one  at  a  time.  The  first  one  was  this : 
A  lliverdale  boy  was  walking  along  the  bank  of  a  canal 
in  Hoytville.  He  saw  a  boy  driving  t"i  horses,  which 
were  towing  a  canal  bout.  The  first  horse  was  lazy,  and 
the  boy  got  angry  and  struck  him  several  times  over  tlie 
head  with  hi,<-  whip.  The  Riverdale  boy  shouted  across 
to  him,  begging  him  not  to  be  so  cruel ;  but  tlie  boy  paid 
no  attention.  Sud  '«enA  the  hnrse  turned,  seized  his  tor- 
mentor by  the  8houi.i<.i,  and  pashed  him  into  the  canal. 
The  water  was  not  deep,  and  the  boy,  after  floundering 
about  for  a  few  seconds,  came  out  dripping  with  mud 
and  filth,  and  sat  down  on  the  tow  path,  and  looked  at 
the  horse  with  such  a  comical  expression,  tliat  tlie  River- 
dale  boy  had  to  stuf!'  his  handkerchief  in  his  mouth  to 
keep  from  laughing. 

"  It  is  to  be  hoped  that  he  would  learn  a  lesson,"  said 
the  president,  "  and  be  kinder  to  his  horse  in  the  future. 
Now,  Bernard  Howe,  your  story.' 

The  boy  was  a  brother  to  tlio  little  glil  who  had  told 
the  monkey  story,  and  he  too  had  evidently  hocn  talking 
to  his  grandfather.  He  told  two  stories,  and  Miss  Laura 
listened  eagerly,  for  they  were  about  Fairport. 

The  boy  said  that  when  his  grandfather  was  young,  he 
lived  in  Fairport,  Maine.  On  a  certain  day,  he  stood  in 
the  market  scpiare  to  see  their  first  stagecoach  put  to- 
gether. It  had  come  from  Boston  in  pieces,  for  there  was 
no  one  in  Fairport  that  could  make  one.  The  coach  went 
away  up  into  the  country  one  day,  and  came  back  the 
next.  For  a  long  time  uo  one  understood  driving  the 
horses  properly,  and  they  came  in  day  after  day  witli  tlic 


Sl'OUIES    ABOUT   ANIMALS. 


153 


blood  streaming  from  them.  The  whiffle-tree  would 
swing  round  and  bit  them,  and  wlien  their  collars  were 
taken  off,  their  necks  would  be  raw  and  bloody.  After  a 
time,  the  men  got  to  understand  bow  to  drive  a  coach, 
and  the  horses  did  not  suffer  so  much. 

The  other  story  was  about  a  team-boat,  not  a  steam- 
boat. More  than  seventy  yeaid  ago,  they  had  no  steamers 
running  between  Fairport  and  the  island  opposite  where 
people  went  for  the  summer,  but  they  had  what  they  called 
a  team-boat,  that  is,  a  boat  with  machinery  to  make  it  go. 
that  could  be  worked  by  horses.  There  were  "ight  horses 
that  went  around  and  around,  and  made  the  boat  go.  One 
afternoon,  two  dancing  masters  who  were  wicked  fellows 
that  played  the  fiddle,  and  never  went  to  church  on  Sun- 
days, got  on  the  boat,  and  sat  just  where  the  horses  had 
to  pass  them  as  they  went  around. 

Every  time  the  horses  went  by,  they  jabbed  them  with 
their  penknives.  The  man  who  was  driving  the  horses 
at  last  saw  the  blood  dripping  from  them,  and  the 
dancing  masters  were  found  out.  Some  young  men  on 
the  boat  were  so  angry,  that  they  caught  up  a  rope's  end, 
and  gave  the  dancing  masters  a  lashing,  and  then  threw 
them  into  the  water  and  made  them  swim  to  the  island. 

When  this  boy  took  his  scat,  a  young  girl  read  some 
verses  that  she  bad  clipped  from  a  newspaper. 


"Don't  kill  the  touds,  the  ugly  toads, 
That  hop  around  your  door. 
Each  mual  the  little  toad  doth  eat 
A  hundred  hugs  or  more. 

"  He  sits  around  with  aspect  meek, 
Until  the  bug  hath  noarcd. 
Then  shoots  he  forth  his  little  tongue 
Like  lightning;  doublo-geared. 


151 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 

And  then  he  soberly  doth  wink, 
And  shut  his  ugly  mug, 

And  patiently  doth  wait  until 
There  comes  another  bug." 


II  ' 


Mr.  Maxwell  told  a  good  dog  story  after  this.  He 
said  the  president  need  not  have  any  fears  as  to  its  triitli, 
for  it  had  happened  in  his  boarding  house  in  the  village, 
and  he  had  seen  it  hiinself.  Monday,  the  day  before,  be- 
ing wash  day,  his  landlady  had  put  out  a  large  washing. 
Among  the  clothes  on  the  line  Wiis  a  gray  tiannel  shirt 
belonging  to  her  husband.  The  young  dog  belonging  to 
the  house  had  pulled  the  shirt  from  the  line  and  torn  it 
to  pieces.  The  woman  put  it  aside  and  told  him  master 
would  beat  him.  When  the  man  came  home  to  his  din- 
ner, he  showed  the  dog  the  pieces  of  the  shirt,  and  gave 
him  a  severe  whipping.  The  dog  ran  away,  visited  all 
the  clothes  lines  in  the  village,  till  he  found  a  gray  shirt 
very  like  his  master's.  He  seized  it  and  ran  home,  laying 
it  at  his  master's  feet,  joyfully  wagging  his  tail  meanwhile. 

Mr.  Maxwell's  story  done,  a  bright-faced  boy  called 
Simoii  Grey  got  up  and  said :  "  You  all  know  our  old 
gray  horse  Ned.  Last  week  father  sold  him  to  a  man  in 
Hoytvillft,  and  I  went  to  the  station  when  he  was  shipped. 
He  was  put  in  a  box  car.  The  doors  were  left  a  little 
open  to  give  him  air,  and  were  locked  in  that  way.  There 
was  a  narrow,  sliding  door,  f')a  feet  from  the  flc  ^r  of  the 
car,  and  in  some  way  or  other,  old  Ned  pushed  this  door 
open,  crawled  through  it,  and  tumbled  out  on  the  ground. 
When  I  was  coming  from  school,  I  saw  him  walking  along 
the  track.  He  hadn't  hurt  himself,  except  for  a  few  cuts. 
He  was  glad  to  see  mo,  and  followed  me  home.  He  must 
have  gotten  off  the  train  w  len  it  was  going  full  speed,  for 
be  hadn't  been  seen  at  any  of  the  stations,  and  the  train- 


8TOUI£S   ABOUT   ANIMALS. 


155 


men  were  astonished  to  find  the  doors  locked  and  car 
empty,  when  tliey  gut  to  Hoytville.  Father  got  the  man 
who  bought  him  tu  release  him  from  .  his  burgiiin,  for  he 
Bays  if  Ned  is  so  fond  of  liiverdale,  he  sliall  stay  here." 

The  president  asked  the  boys  and  girls  to  give  three 
cheers  for  oM  Ned,  and  then  they  had  some  more  singing. 
After  all  had  taken  their  seats,  he  said  he  would  like  to 
know  what  the  members  had  been  doing  for  animals  dur- 
ing the  past  fortnight. 

One  girl  had  kept  her  brother  from  shooting  two  owls 
that  came  about  their  barnyard.  She  told  him  that  the 
owls  would  destroy  the  rats  and  mice  that  bothered  him 
in  the  ban  but  if  he  hunted  them,  they  would  go  to  the 
woods. 

A  boy  said  that  he  had  persuaded  some  of  liis  friends 
who  were  going  fishing,  to  put  their  bait  worms  into  a 
diish  of  boiling  water  to  kill  them  before  they  started, 
arid  also  to  promise  him  that  as  soon  as  they  took  their 
fish  out  of  the  water,  they  would  kill  them  by  a  sharp 
blow  on  the  back  of  the  head.  They  were  all  the  more 
ready  to  do  this,  when  he  told. them  tliat  their  fish  would 
taste  better  when  cooked,  if  they  had  been  killed  as  soon 
as  they  were  taken  from  the  water  into  the  air. 

A  little  girl  had  gotten  her  mother  to  say  that  she 
would  never  again  put  lobsters  into  cold  water  and  slowly 
boil  them  to  death.  She  had  also  stopped  a  man  in  the 
street  who  was  carryinar  a  pair  of  fowls  with  their  heads 
down,  and  asked  him  if  he  would  kindly  reverse  their  po- 
sition. The  man  told  her  that  the  fowls  didn't  mind,  and 
she  pursed  up  her  small  mouth  and  showed  the  band  how 
she  said  to  him,  "  I  would  prefer  tlie  opinion  of  the  hens." 
Then  she  said  he  had  laughed  ai  her,  and  said,  "  Certainly, 
little  lady,"  and  had  gone  off  carrying  them   as  she 


156 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


wanted  him  tf).  She  had  also  reasoned  with  diflerent  boys 
outside  the  village  who  were  throwing  stones  at  birds 
and  fi.igs,  and  sticking  butterflies,  and  had  invited  them 
to  come  to  the  Baud  of  Mercy. 

This  child  seemed  to  have  done  more  than  any  one  else 
for  dumb  animals.  She  had  taken  around  a  petition  to 
the  village  boys,  asking  them  not  to  search  for  birds'  eggs, 
and  nhe  had  even  gone  into  her  father's  stable,  and  asked 
him  to  hold  her  up,  so  that  she  could  look  into  the 
horses*  niouths  to  see  if  their  teeth  wanted  filing  or  were 
decayed.  When  her  father  laughed  at  her,  she  told  him 
that  horsfc8*ften  suffer  terrible  pain  from  tlieir  teeth,  and 
that  sometimes  a  runaway  is  caused  by  a  metal  bit  strik- 
ing against  the  exposed  nerve  in  the  tooth  of  a  horse  that 
has  become  almost  frantic  with  pain. 

She  was  a  very  gentle  girl,  and  I  think  by  the  way  that 
she  spoke  that  her  father  loved  her  dearly,  for  she  told 
bow  much  trouble  he  had  taken  to  make  some  tiny  houses 
for  her  that  she  wanted  for  the  wrens  that  came  about 
their  farm.  She  told  him  that  those  little  birds  are  so 
good  at  catching  insects  that  they  ought  to  give  all  their 
time  to  it,  and  not  have  any  worry  about  making  houses. 
Her  father  made  their  homes  very  small,  so  that  the 
English  sparrows  could  not  get  in  and  crowd  them  out. 

A  boy  said  that  he  had  gotten  a  pot  of  paint,  and 
painted  in  large  letters  on  the  fences  around  his  father's 
farm:  "Spare  the  toads,  don't  kill  the  birds.  •  Every 
bird  killed  is  a  loss  to  the  country." 

"That  reminds  me,"  said  the  president,  " to  ask  the 
girls  what  they  have  done  about  the  millinery  busi- 
ness." 

"I  have  told  my  mother,"  said  a  tall,  serious-faced 
girl.  "  that  I  think  it  is  wrong  to  wear  bird  feathers,  and 


I 


STORIES   ABOUT   ANIMALS. 


157 


she  baa  promised  to  give  up  wearing  any  of  them  except 
ostrich  plumes." 

Mrs.  ^Vood  asked  permission  to  say  a  few  words  just 
here,  and  the  president  said  :  "  Certainly,  we  are  always 
glad  to  hear  from  you."' 

She  went  up  on  the  platform,  and  faced  the  roomful  of 
children.  "  Dear  boys  and  girls,"  she  began,  "  I  have 
had  some  papers  sent  me  from  Boston,  giving  some  facts 
about  the  killing  of  oiir  birds,  and  I  want  to  state  a  few 
of  them  to  you :  You  all  know  that  nearly  every  tree  and 
plant  that  grows  swarms  with  insect  life,  and  tl  ?t  they 
couldn't  grow  if  the  birds  didn't  eat  the  insects  th'  vould 
devour  their  foliage.  All  day  long,  the  little  bcKKs  of 
the  birds  are  busy.  The  dear  little  rose-breasted  gross- 
beak  carefully  examines  the  potato  plants,  and  picks  oli" 
the  beetles,  the  martins  destroy  weevil,  the  quail  and 
grouse  family  eats  the  chinch  bug,  the  woodpeckers  dig 
the  worms  from  the  trees,  and  many  other  birds  eat  the 
flies  and  gnats  and  mosquitoes  that  torment  us  so.  No 
flying  or  crawling  creature  escapes  their  sharp  little  eyes. 
A  great  Frenchman  says  that  if  it  weren't  for  the  birds 
human  beings  would  perish  from  the  face  of  the  earth. 
They  are  doing  all  this  for  us,  and  how  are  we  rewarding 
them?  All  over  America  they  are  hunted  and  killed. 
Five  million  birds  must  be  caught  every  year  for  Ameri- 
can women  to  wear  in  their  hats  and  bonnets.  Just  think 
of  it,  girls.  Isn't  it  dreadful?  Five  million  innocent, 
hard-working,  beautiful  birds  killed  that  thoughtless  girls 
and  women  may  ornament  themselves  with  their  little 
dead  bodies.  One  million  bobolinks  have  been  killed  in 
one  month  near  Philadelphia.  Seventy  song-birds  were 
sent  from  one  Long  Island  village  to  New  York  milliners. 

"  In  Florida  cruel  men  shoot  the  mother  birds  on  their 


m 


168 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


1 1 


nesta  while  they  are  rearing  their  young,  because  their 
plumage  is  prettiest  at  that  time.  The  little  ones  cry  pit- 
ifully, and  starve  to  death.  Every  bird  of  the  rarer  kinds 
that  is  killed,  such  as  humming  birds,  orioles,  and  king- 
fishers means  the  death  of  several  others — that  is,  the 
young  thuL  starve  to  death,  the  wounded  that  fly  away  to 
die,  and  those  whose  plumage  is  so  torn  that  it  is  not  fit 
to  put  in  a  fine  lady's  bonnet.  In  some  cases  where  birds 
have  gay  wings,  and  the  huutors  do  not  wish  the  rest  of 
the  body,  they  tear  off  the  wings  frpm  the  living  bird, 
and  throw  it  away  to  die. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  tell  you  such  painful  things,  but  1  think 
you  ought  to  know  them.  You  will  soon  be  men  and 
women.  Do  what  you  can  to  stop  this  horrid  trade. 
Our  beautiful  birds  are  being  taken  from  us,  and  the  in- 
sect pests  are  increasing.  The  State  of  Massachusetts  has 
lost  over  one  hundred  thousand  dollars  because  it  did  not 
protect  its  birds.  The  gypsy  moth  stripped  the  trees  near 
Boston,  and  the  State  had  to  pay  out  all  this  money,  and 
even  then  could  not  get  rid  of  the  moths.  The  birds 
could  have  done  it  better  than  the  State,  but  they  were 
all  gone.  My  last  words  to  you  are,  'Protect  the 
birds.' " 

Mrs.  Wood  went  lo  her  seat,  and  though  the  boys  and 
girls  had  listened  very  attentively,  none  of  tbem  cheered 
her.  Their  faces  looked  sad,  and  they  kept  very  quiet 
for  a  few  minuter.  I  saw  one  or  two  little  girls  wiping 
their  eyes.     I  think  they  felt  sorry  for  the  birds. 

"  Has  any  boy  done  anything  about  blinders  and  check- 
reins  ?  "  asked  the  president,  after  a  time. 

A  brown-faced  boy  stood  up.  "  I  had  a  picnic  last 
Monday,"  he  said ;  "  father  let  me  cut  all  the  blinders 
off  our  head-stalls  with  ray  penknife." 


STORIES   ABOUT  ANIMAIJS. 


169 


ast 
era 


"  How  did  you  get  him  to  consent  to  that?  "  asked  the 
president. 

"I  told  him,"  said  the  boy,  "that  I  couldn't  get  to 
sleep  for  thinking  of  him.  You  know  he  drives  a  good 
deal  late  at  night.  I  told  him  that  every  dark  night  he 
came  from  Sudbury  I  thought  of  the  deep  ditch  along 
side  the  road,  and  wished  his  horses  hadn't  blinders 
on.  And  evfty  night  he  comes  from  the  Junction,  and 
has  to  drive  along  the  river  bank  where  the  water  has 
washed  away  the  earth  till  the  wheels  of  the  wagon  are 
within  a  foot  or  two  of  the  edge,  I  wished  again  that  his 
horses  could  see  each  side  of  them,  for  I  knew  they'd  have 
sense  enough  to  keep  out  of  danger  if  they  could  see  it. 
Father  said  that  might  be  very  true,  and  yet  his  horses 
had  been  broken  in  with  blinders,  and  didn't  I  think 
they  would  be  inclined  to  shy  if  he  took  them  off,  and 
wouldn't  they  be  frightened  to  look  around  and  see  the 
wagon  wheels  so  near.  I  told  him  that  for  every  acci- 
dent that  happened  to  a  horse  without  blinders,  several 
happened  to  a  horse  with  them ;  and  then  I  gave  him 
Mr.  Wood's  opinion — Mr.  Wood  out  at  Diugley  Farm 
He  says  that  the  worst  thing  against  blinders  is  that  a 
frightened  horse  never  knows  when  he  has  passed  the 
thing  that  scared  him.  He  always  thinks  it  is  behind 
him.  The  blinders  are  there  and  he  can't  see  that  he  has 
passed  it,  and  he  can't  turn  his  head  to  have  a  good  look 
at  it.  So  often  he  goes  tearing  madly  on  ;  and  sometimes 
lives  are  lost  all  on  account  of  a  little  bit  of  leather 
fastened  over  a  beautiful  eye  that  ought  to  look  out  full 
and  free  at  the  world  That  finished  father.  He  said 
he'd  take  off  his  blinders,  and  if  he  had  an  accident,  he'd 
send  the  bill  for  damages  to  Mr.  Wood.  But  we've  had 
no  accident  The  horses  did  act  rather  queerly  at  fipt,  and 


160 


BKAUTIFUL   JOE. 


' 


started  a  lilt  bat  f1"y  soon  got  over  it,  aud  now  they 
go  as  steady  without  b;  ../ersaa  they  ever  did  with  them," 

The  boy  sat  down,  aud  the  president  said  :  "  I  thinit 
it  is  time  th.it  the  whole  nation  threw  off  this  foolishnees 
of  half  covering  their  horses'  eyes.  Just  put  your  hands 
up  to  your  eyes,  members  of  the  band.  Half  cover  them, 
and  see  how  shut  in  you  will  feel ;  and  how  curious  you 
will  be  to  know  what  is  going  on  beside  you.  Suppose  a 
girl  saw  a  mouse  with  her  eyes  half  covered,  wouldn't  she 
run  ?" 

Everybody  laughed,  aud  the  president  asked  some  one 
to  tell  him  who  invented  blinders. 

"  An  English  nobleman,"  shouted  a  boy,  "  who  had  a 
wall-eyed  horse !  He  wanted  to  cover  up  the  defect,  and 
I  think  it  is  a  great  shame  that  all  the  American  horses 
have  to  suffer  because  that  English  one  had  an  ugly 
eye." 

"So  do  I,"  said  the  president.  "Three  groans  for 
blinders,  boys." 

All  the  children  in  the  room  made  three  dreadful 
noises  away  down  in  their  throats.  Then  they  had 
another  good  laugh,  and  the  president  became  sober 
again.  "  Seven  more  minutes,"  he  said ;  "  this  meeting 
has  got  to  be  let  out  at  five  sharp." 

A  tall  girl  at  the  back  of  the  room  rose,  and  said : 
*'  My  little  cousin  has  two  stories  that  she  would  like  to 
tell  the  band." 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  president,  "  bring  her  right 
along." 

The  big  girl  came  forward,  leading  a  tiny  child  that  she 
placed  in  front  of  the  boys  aud  girls.  The  child  stared 
up  into  her  cousin's  face,  turning  and  twisting  her  white 
piuaforg  through  her  fingei-s.     Every  time  the  big  girl 


STORIES   ABOUT   ANIMAIiR. 


161 


rht 


took  her  pinafore  away  from  her,  she  picked  it  up  again. 
"  Begin,  Nannie,"  said  the  big  girl,  kindly. 

"  Well,  Cousin  Eleanor,"  said  the  child,  "  you  know 
Topsy,  Graham's  pony.  Well,  Topsy  would  run  away, 
and  a  big,  big  man  came  out  to  papa  and  said  he  would 
train  Topsy.  So  he  drove  her  every  day,  and  beaf.  her, 
and  beat  her,  till  he  was  tired,  but  still  Topsy  would  run 
away.  Then  papa  said  he  would  not  have  the  poor  pon; 
whipped  so  much,  and  he  took  her  out  a  piece  of  breaa 
every  day,  and  he  petted  her,  and  now  Topsy  is  very 
gentle,  and  never  runs  away." 

"  Tell  about  Ti-er,"  said  the  girl. 

"  Well,  Cousin  Eleanor,"  said  the  child,  "  you  know 
Tiger,  our  big  dog.  He  used  to  be  i  bad  dog,  and  when 
Dr.  Fairchild  drove  up  to  the  house  he  jumped  up  and 
bit  at  him.  Dr.  Fairchild  used  to  speak  kindly  to  him,  and 
throw  out  bits  of  meat,  and  now  when  he  comes.  Tiger 
follows  behind  and  wags  his  tail.    Now  give  me  a  kiss." 

'J'he  girl  had  to  give  her  a  kiss,  right  up  there  before 
every  one,  and  what  a  stamping  the  boys  made.  The 
larger  girl  blushed  and  hurried  back  to  her  seat,  with 
the  child  clinging  to  her  hand. 

There  was  one  more  story,  about  a  brave  Newfoundland 
dog,  that  saved  eight  lives  by  swimming  out  to  a  wrecked 
sailing  vessel,  and  getting  a  rope  by  which  the  men  came 
aahore,  and  then  a  lad  got  up  whom  they  all  greeted 
with  cheers,  and  cries  of,  "  The  Poet !  the  Poet ! "  I 
didn't  know  what  they  meant,  till  Mrs.  Wood  whispered 
to  Miss  Laura  that  he  was  a  boy  who  made  rhymes,  and 
the  children  had  rather  hear  him  speak  than  any  one 
else  in  the  room. 

He  had  a  snub  nose  and  freckles,  and  I  think  he  woa 
the  plainest  boy  there,  but  that  didn't  matter,  if  the  other 

L 


1 


162 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


I- 


cbildren  loved  him.     He  suuiUered  up  to  the  front,  with 
his  liaiidn  behind  hix  back,  and  a  very  grand  manner. 

"  I'iie  iM'autiful  poetry  recited  here  to-day,"  lie  drawled, 
"  put  i«uMiu  v«>i-ae8  in  ray  mind  that  I  never  had  till  I 
came  here  to-day."  Every  one  present  cheered  wildly, 
and  he  began,  in  a  sing-song  voice : 

"  I  am  a  Band  of  Mercy  boy, 
I  would  not  hurt  a  fly, 
I  always  speak  to  dogs  and  cats, 
When'er  I  pass  thom  by. 

"  I  always  let  the  birdies  sing, 
I  never  throw  a  stone, 
I  always  give  a  hungry  dog 
A  nice,  fat,  racaty  bone. 

"  I  wouldn't  drive  a  bob-taikvl  horse. 
Nor  hurry  up  n  cow, 
1 " 

Then  he  forgot  the  rest.  The  boys  and  girls  w6re  so 
sorry.  They  called  out,  "  Pig,"  '•  Goat,"  "  Calf,"  "  Sheep," 
"  Hens,"  "  Ducks,"  and  all  the  other  animals'  names  they 
could  think  of,  but  none  of  them  was  right,  and  as  the 
boy  had  just  made  up  the  poetry,  no  one  knew  what  the 
next  could  be.  He  stood  for  a  long  time  staring  at  the 
ceiling,  then  he  said,  "  I  guess  I'll  have  to  give  it  up." 

The  children  looked  dreadfully  disappointed.  "  Per- 
haps you  will  remember  it  by  our  next  meeting,"  said  the 
president,  anxiously. 

"  Possibly,"  said  the  boy,  "  but  probably  not.  I  think 
it  is  gone  forever."     And  he  went  to  his  scat. 

The  next  thing  was  to  call  for  new  members.  Miss 
Laura  got  up  and  said  she  would  like  to  join  their  Band 
of  Alercy.  I  followed  her  up  to  the  platform,  while  they 
pinned  a  little  badge  on  her,  and  every  one  laughed  at 


8TOIUK-i    ABOUT    ANIMAIX. 


163 


me.  Then  they  sang,  "  God  bless  our  native  lind,"  and 
the  president  told  iis  that  wo  might  all  go  homo. 

It  seemed  to  mo  a  lovelv  thing  for  those  children  to 
meet  togtiher  to  talk  ahout  kindness  to  animals.  Thoy 
uU  had  bright  and  good  faces,  and  many  of  them  stopped 
to  jjat  me  as  I  came  out.  One  litlJe  girl  gave  me  a  bis- 
cuit from  her  school  bag. 

Mrs.  Wood  waited  at  the  door  till  Mr.  Maxwell  came 
limping  out  on  his  crutches.  8lie  introduced  him  to  Miss 
Laura,  and  asked  him  if  he  wouldn't  go  and  take  tea 
with  thera.  He  said  he  would  be  very  happy  to  do  so,  and 
tlien  Mrs.  Wood  laughed,  and  asked  him  if  ho  hadn't 
better  empty  his  pocket-s  first.  She  didn't  want  a  little 
toad  jumping  over  her  tea  table,  as  one  did  the  last  time 
he  was  there. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

MR    MAXWKLL   AM)   MK.    IIARRT. 

R  MAXWELL  wore  a  coat  with  loose  pocketa, 
and  while  she  was  speaking,  he  rer^cd  on  bis 
crutches,  and  hoiran  to  slap  them  with  his 
hauds.  "No;  there's  nothing  here  to-day,'*  he  said,  "  I 
think  I  emptied  my  pockets  before  I  went  to  tlie  moeting." 

Just  as  he  said  that  there  was  a  loud  squeal :  "  Oh,  ray 
guinea  pig,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  forgot  him,"  and  he  pulled 
out  a  little  spotted  creature  a  few  inches  long.  "Poor 
Derry,  did  I  hurt  you?  "  and  he  soothed  it  very  tenderly. 

I  stood  and  looked  at  Mr.  Maxwell,  for  I  had  never 
seen  any  one  like  him.  He  had  thick  curly  hair  and  a 
white  face,  and  he  looked  just  like  a  girl.  While  I  waa 
staring  at  him,  something  peeped  up  out  of  one  of  his 
pockets  and  ran  out  its  tongue  at  me  so  fast  that  I  could 
scarcely  see  it,  and  tlien  drew  back  again.  I  was  thun- 
derstruck. I  had  never  seen  such  a  creature  before.  It 
was  long  and  thin  like  a  boy's  cane,  and  of  a  bright  green 
color  like  grass,  and  it  had  queer  shiny  eyes.  But  its 
tongue  was  the  strangest  part  of  it.  It  came  and  went 
like  lightning.     I  was  uneasv  about  it  and  began  to  bark. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Joe?"  said  Mrs.  Wood,  "the  pig 
won't  hurt  you." 

But  it  wasn't  the  pig  I  was  afraid  of,  and  I  kept  on 
164 


MR.    MAXWKLL   AND    MK.    lIAUIiV. 


165 


my 


barking.  And  all  the  time  tliot.  strange  live  thing  kept 
sticking  up  itd  head  and  putting  out  its  tongue  at  mo,  and 
li either  of  them  noticed  it. 

"  It'a  getting  on  toward  six,"  said  Mrs.  Wood,  "  we 
must  be  going  home.     Come,  Mr.  Maxwell." 

The  young  man  put  the  guinea  pig  in  liifl  pocket, 
picked  up  his  crutches,  and  Viv  started  down  the  sunny 
village  street.  He  left  iiis  guinea  pig  at  his  boarding 
house  as  he  went  by,  but  he  said  nothing  about  the  otlier 
creature,  so  I  knew  he  did  not  know  it  was  tiiere. 

I  was  very  much  taken  with  Mr.  Maxwell.  He  seemed 
so  bright  and  happy,  in  spite  of  liis  lameness,  whicii  kept 
Lira  from  running  about  like  otlier  young  men.  He 
looked  a  little  older  than  Miss  Laura,  and  one  day,  a 
week  or  two  later,  when  they  were  sitting  on  the  veranda, 
I  heard  him  tell  her  thatiie  was  just  uiueteeu.  He  told 
her  too  that  his  lameness  made  iiim  love  uninmls.  They 
never  laughed  at  him,  or  sliglited  him,  or  got  impatient, 
because  he  could  not  walk  quickly.  They  were  alwa\s 
good  to  him,  and  he  said  he  loved  all  animals  while  he 
liked  very  few  people. 

On  this  day,  as  he  was  limping  along,  he  said  to  Mrs. 
Wood :  "  I  am  getting  more  absent-minded  every  day. 
Have  you  hear    of  ray  latest  escapade? " 

"  No,"  she  said. 

"  I  am  glad,"  he  replied.  "  I  was  afraid  that  it  would 
be  all  over  the  village  by  this  time.  I  went  to  church 
last  Sunday  with  my  poor  guinea  pig  in  my  pocket.  He 
hasn't  been  well,  and  I  was  attending  to  him  belore  church, 
.ind  put  him  in  there  to  get  warm,  and  forgot  about 
him.  UnforCiiuuLly  I  was  late,  and  the  back  seits  were 
all  full,  so  I  had  to  sit  farther  up  than  I  us  .uly  d  >. 
During  the  first  hymn  I  hap})eued  to  strike  Piggy  against 


I 


! 


166 


BKAUTIFUL   JOE. 


the  sido  of  the  scat.  Such  an  car-splitting  Sfiueal  as  be 
set  up.  It  sounded  as  if  I  vaa  murdering  him.  The  jMio- 
ple  stared  and  stared,  and  I  hud  to  leave  the  church, 
overwhehncd  with  coufudion." 

Mrs.  Wood  and  Miss  Laura  laughed,  and  then  they  got 
talkiu''  about  otlur  matters  that  were  not  interesting  to 
me,  so  I  (lid  nut  listen.  But  1  kept  close  to  Miss  Laura, 
for  I  wa:s  afraid  tli-it  green  tiling  might  hurt  her.  I  won- 
dered very  much  what  its  name  was.  I  don't  think  I 
should  have  feared  it  so  !auch  if  I  had  known  what  it  was. 

There's  something  the  matter  with  Joe,"  said  Mias 
Laura,  when  we  got  into  the  lane.  "  What  is  it,  dear  old 
fellow  ?  "  She  put  down  her  little  hand,  and  I  licked  it, 
and  wished  so  much  that  I  could  speak. 

Sometimes  I  wish  very  much  that  I  had  the  gift  of 
speech,  and  then  at  other  tiraeg  I  see  how  little  it  would 
profit  me,  and  how  many  foolish  things  I  should  often  say. 
And  I  don't  believe  human  beings  would  love  animals  as 
well,  if  they  could  speak. 

When  we  reached  the  house,  we  got  a  joyful  surprise. 
There  was  a  trunk  standing  on  the  veranda,  a:id  as  soon 
as  Mrs.  Wood  saw  it,  she  gave  a  little  shriek :  "  My  dear 
boy!" 

Mr.  Harry  was  there,  sure  enough,  and  stepped  out 
through  the  open  door.  He  took  his  mother  in  hi:^  arms 
and  kissed  her,  then  he  shook  hands  with  Miss  Laura  and 
Mr.  Maxwell,  who  seemed  to  be  an  old  friend  of  his. 
They  all  sat  down  on  the  veranda  and  talked,  and  I  lay 
at  Miss  Laura's  feet  and  looked  at  Mr.  Harry.  He  was 
such  a  handsome  young  man,  and  had  such  a  noble  face. 
He  was  older  and  graver  looking  than  when  I  saw  him 
last,  and  he  had  a  light,  brown  moustache  that  he  did  not 
have  when  he  was  in  Fairport. 


he 


i  out 
arms 
a  and 

his. 

lay 

was 
face. 

him 
id  not 


M 


MAXWKLL   AND    Mi:.    UA'.llY 


1G7 


lie  seemed  very  fond  of  his  motiior  and  of  Miss  Laura, 
and  however  grave  his  face  might  l)e  when  he  was  looiviug 
at  Mr.  Maxwell,  it  always  li;,'lited  up  when  he  turned"  to 
tlicm.  "What  dog  is  that?  '  he  said  at  last,  with  a  puz- 
zled face,  and  pointing  to  mc, 

"  Whv,  Harrv,"  exclaimed  Miss  Laura,  "don't  vou 
know  Beautiful  Joe,  that  you  rescued  from  that  wretche<l 
milkman?" 

"  Is  it  possible,"  ho  said,  "  that  this  well-conditioned 
creature  is  the  bundle  of  dirtj'  skin  and  hones  that  we 
nursed  in  Fairport  ?  Come  here,  sir.  Do  you  remember 
me?" 

Indeed  I  did  remember  him,  and  I  licked  his  hands 
and  looked  up  gratefully  into  his  face.  "  You're  almost 
handsome  now,"  ho  said,  caressing  me  with  a  firm,  kind 
hand,  "  and  of  a  solid  build  too.  You  look  like  a  fighter 
— but  I  suppose  you  wouldn't  let  him  fight,  even  if  he 
wanted  to,  Laura,"  and  he  smiled  and  glanced  at  her. 

'•  No,"  she  said,  "  I  don't  think  I  should  ;  but  he  can 
fight  when  the  occasion  requires  it."  And  she  told  him 
about  our  night  with  Jenkins. 

All  the  time  she  was  speaking,  Mr.  Harry  held  me  by 
the  paws,  and  stroked  my  body  over  and  over  again. 
When  she  finished,  he  put  his  head  down  to  me,  and  mur- 
mured, "  Good  dog,"  and  I  saw  that  his  eyes  were  red  and 
shining. 

"  That's  a  capital  story,  we  must  have  it  at  the  Band  of 
Mercy,"  said  Mr.  Maxwell.  Mrs.  Wood  had  gone  to  help 
prepare  the  tea,  so  the  two  young  men  were  alone  with 
Miss  Laura.  When  they  had  done  talking  about  me,  she 
asked  Mr.  Harry  a  number  of  questions  about  his  college 
life,  and  his  trip  to  New  York,  for  he  bad  not  been  study- 
ing all  the  time  that  he  was  away. 


168 


BEAUTIFUL   JOE. 


"What  are  you  going  to  do  w'h  yourself,  Gray,  when 
your  college  course  is  ended  ?  "  aaned  Mr.  Maxwell. 

**  I'm  going  to  settle  right  down  here,"  said  Mr.  Harry. 

"  What,  1)6  a  fanner  ?  "  asked  his  friend. 

"Yes,  why  not?" 

"  Nothing,  only  I  imagined  that  you  would  take  a  pro- 
fession." 

"The  professions  are  overstocked,  and  we  have  not 
farmers  enough  for  the  good  of  the  country.  There  is 
nothing  like  farming,  to  my  mind.  In  no  other  employ- 
ment have  you  a  surer  living.  I  do  not  like  the  cities. 
The  heat  and  dust  and  crowds  of  people,  and  buildings 
overtopping  one  another,  and  the  rush  of  living,  take  my 
breath  away.  Suppose  I  did  go  to  a  city.  I  would  sell 
out  my  share  of  the  farm,  and  have  a  few  thousand  dol- 
lars. You  know  I  am  not  an  intellectual  giant.  I  would 
never  distinguish  myself  in  any  profession.  I  would  be 
a  poor  lawyer  or  doctor,  living  in  a  back  street  all  the 
days  of  my  life,  and  never  watch  a  tree  or  flower  grow, 
or  tend  an  animal,  or  have  a  drive  unless  I  paid  for  it. 
No,  thank  you.  I  agree  with  President  Eliot,  of  Har- 
vard. He  says,  scarcely  one  person  in  ten  thousand  bet- 
ters himself  permanently  by  leaving  his  rural  home  and 
settling  in  a  city.  If  one  is  a  millionaire,  city  life  is 
agreeable  enough,  for  one  can  always  get  away  from  it ; 
but  I  am  beginning  to  think  that  it  is  a  dangerous  thing, 
in  more  ways  than  one,  to  be  a  millionaire.  I  believe  the 
safety  of  the  country  lies  in  the  hands  of  the  farmers ; 
for  they  are  seldom  very  poor  or  very  rich.  We  stand 
between  the  two  dangerous  classes — the  wealthy  and  the 
paupers." 

"  But  most  farmers  lead  such  a  dog's  life,"  said  Mr. 
Maxwell. 


1 


MB.    MAXWELL   AND    MR.    HARRY. 


169 


"  So  they  do ;  fiirrning  isn't  made  one  half  as  attructive 
as  it  shouhi  be,"  said  Mr,  Harry. 

Mr.  M:ixwell  smiled.  "Attractive  I'arm.ni:.  Just 
sketch  an  outline  of  tliat,  will  you,  Gray?" 

"In  the  first  place,"  said  Mr.  Harry,  "  I  would  like  to 
tear  out  of  the  heart  of  the  fanner  the  thing  that  is  as 
firmly  implanted  in  him  as  it  is  in  the  heart  of  liis  city 
brother — the  thing  that  is  doing  more  to  harm  our  nation 
than  anything  else  under  the  sun." 

"  What  is  that?"  asked  Mr.  Maxwell,  curiously. 

"  The  thirst  for  gold.  The  farmer  wants  to  get  rich, 
and  he  works  so  hafd  to  do  it  that  he  wears  himself  out 
soul  and  body,  and  the  young  people  around  him  get  so 
disgusted  with  that  way  of  getting  rich,  that  they  go  off 
to  the  cities  to  find  out  some  other  way,  or  at  least  to 
enjoy  themselves,  for  I  don't  think  many  young  people 
are  animated  by  a  desire  to  heap  up  money." 

Mr.  Maxwell  looked  amused.  "  There  is  certainly  a 
great  exodus  from  country  places  cityward,"  be  said. 
"  What  would  be  your  plan  for  checking  it  ?  " 

"  I  would  make  the  farm  so  pleasant,  that  you  couldn't 
hire  the  boys  and  girls  to  leave  it.  I  would  have  them 
work,  and  work  hard  too,  but  when  their  work  was  over, 
I  would  let  them  have  some  fun.  That  is  what  they  go  to 
the  city  for.  They  want  amusement  and  society,  and  to 
get  into  some  kind  of  a  crowd  when  their  work  is  done. 
The  young  men  and  young  women  want  to  get  together, 
as  is  only  natural.  Now  that  could  be  done  in  the  coun- 
try. If  farmers  would  be  contented  with  smaller  profits 
and  smaller  farms,  their  houses  could  be  nearer  together. 
Their  children  would  have  opportunities  of  social  inter- 
course, there  could  be  societies  and  clubs,  and  that  would 
tend  to  a  distribution  of  literature,     A  farmer  ought  tj 


170 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


11 


take  five  or  six  papers  and  two  or  three  magazines.  Ho 
would  find  it  would  pay  him  in  the  long  run,  and  there 
ought  to  be  a  law  niiulo,  compelling  him  to  go  to  the  post 
office  once  a  day." 

Mr.  Maxwell  burst  out  laughing.  "  And  another  to 
make  him  mend  his  roads  as  well  as  mend  his  ways.  I 
tell  you  Gray,  the  bad  roads  would  put  an  end  to  all 
these  fine  schemes  of  yours.  Imagine  farmers  calling  on 
each  other  on  a  dark  evening  after  a  spring  freshet.  I 
can  see  them  mired  and  bogged,  and  the  house  a  mile- 
ahead  of  them." 

"  That  is  true,"  said  Mr.  Harry,  "iiJie  road  question  is 
a  serious  one.     Do  you  know  how  father  and  I  settle  it?  " 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Maxwell. 

"  We  got  so  tired  of  the  whole  business,  and  thu  iic- 
mers  around  here  spent  so  much  time  in  discussing  the  art 
of  roadmalnug,  as  to  whethtr  it  sh<  ^i  be  viewed  from 
the  engineering  point  of  view,  <".  di..  Jirmers'  practical 
point  of  view,  and  whcher  we  wtuld  r  ^aire  this  number 
of  stump  extractors  or  that  number,  and  how  many 
shovels  and  crushers  and  ditchers  would  be  necessary  to 
keep  our  roads  in  order,  and  so  on,  that  wo  simply  with- 
drew. We  keep  our  own  roads  in  order.  Once  a  year, 
father  gets  a  gang  of  men  and  tackles  every  section  of 
road  that  borders  upon  our  land,  and  our  roads  are  the  best 
around  here.  I  wish  the  government  would  take  up  this 
matter  of  making  roads  and  settle  it.  If  we  had  good, 
smooth,  country  roads,  such  as  they  have  in  some  parts  of 
Europe,  we  would  be  able  to  travel  comfortably  over  the:u 
all  through  the  year,  and  our  draught  animals  would  last 
lon^.f,  for  they  would  not  have  to  expend  so  much  energy 
in  drawing  their  loat's." 


CHAPTER  XXIL 

WHAT   HAPPEXED   AT   THE  TEA   TABLE. 

ROM  ray  station  under  Miss  Laura's  chair,  I 
could  see  that  all  the  time  Mr,  Harry  was 
speaking,*  Mr.  Maxwell,  although  he  spoke 
rather  aa  if  he  was  laughing  at  him,  waa  yet  glancing 
at  hiin  admiringly. 

When  Mr.  Harry  was  silent,  he  exclaimed,  "  You  are 
right,  you  are  right,  Gray.  With  your  smooth  highways, 
and  plenty  of  schools,  and  churches,  and  libraries,  and 
meetings  for  young  people,  you  would  make  country  life 
a  paradise,  and  I  tell  you  what  you  would  do  too :  you 
would  empty  the  slums  of  the  cities.  It  is  the  slowness 
and  dullness  of  country  life,  and  not  their  poverty  alone, 
that  keep  the  poor  in  dirty  lanes  and  tenement  houses. 
They  want  stir  and  amusement  too,  poor  souls,  when  their 
day's  work  is  over.  I  believe  they  would  come  to  the 
country  if  it  \vore  made  more  pleasant  for  them." 

"  That  is  another  question,"  said  Mr.  Harry,  "  a  bun 
ing  question  in  ray  mind — the  labor  and  capital  one. 
When  I  was  in  New  York,  Maxwell,  I  was  in  a  hospital, 
and  saw  a  number  of  men  who  had  been  day  laborers. 
Some  of  them  were  old  and  feeble,  and  others  were  young 
men,  broken  down  m  the  prime  of  life.  Their  limbs  wero 
shrunken  and  drawn.  They  had  been  digging  in  the 
earth,  and  working  on   higli  building-^,  and   confined   in 

171 


172 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


1^ 


ill 
I 


dingy  basements,  and  had  done  all  kinds  of  hard  labor  for 
other  men.  They  had  given  their  lives  and  strength  fur 
otlier?,  and  this  was  the  end  of  it — to  die  poor  and  for- 
saken. I  looked  at  them,  and  they  reminded  me  of  the 
martyrs  of  old.  Ground  down,  living  from  hand  to 
mouth,  separated  from  their  families  in  many  cases — they 
had  had  a  bitter  lot.  They  had  never  had  a  chance  to 
get  away  from  tiieir  fate,  and  had  to  work  till  they 
dropped.  I  tell  you  there  is  sometliing  wrong.  We  don't 
do  enough  for  the  people  that  slave  and  toil  for  us.  We 
sho.ild  take  better  care  of  them,  we  should  not  herd  them 
together  like  cattle,  and  when  we  get  rich,  we  should  carry 
them  along  with  us,  and  give  them  a  part  of  our  gains, 
for  witho  \t  theiu  we  would  be  oa  poor  as  they  are." 

"Good,  Harry — I'm  with  you  there,"  said  a  voice  be- 
hind him,  and  looking  round,  we  saw  Mr.  Wood  stand- 
ing in  the  doorway,  gazing  down  proudly  at  his  step- 
son. 

Mr.  Harry  smiled,  and  getting  up,  said,  "  Won't  you 
have  ray  chair,  sir  ?" 

"  No,  thank  you,  your  mother  wishes  us  to  come  to  tea. 
There  are  muffins,  and  yoi!  know  they  won't  improve 
with  keeping." 

They  all  went  to  the  dining  room,  ind  I  followed  them. 
On  tiie  vvav.  Mr  Wood  said,  "  Right  on  top  of  that  talk 
of  yours,  Harry  I've  got  to  tell  you  of  another  person 
wh  )  ill  goicp:  to  Bc'-i^on  to  live." 

"  Wiiv  i.s  it?  '  sajd  Mr.  Harry. 

"  Lazy  1 'an  Wilson.  I've  been  lo  see  him  this  after- 
noon. You  •  ,',ow  his  wife  is  sick,  and  they're  half  starved. 
He  .^ays  he  is  oing  to  the  city,  for  he  hates  to  chop  wood 
a'/j  work,  ana  '  e  thinks  maybe  he'll  get  some  light  job 
there." 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  THE  TEA  TABLE.   173 


Mr.  Hurry  looked  grave,  and  Mr.  Maxwell  said,  "  He 
will  starve,  tiiat's  wliat  he  will  tlo." 

*'  Precisely,"  said  Mr.  Wood,  spreading  out  bia  hard, 
browu  hands,  as  he  sat  down  at  the  table.  "  1  don't  know 
why  it  is,  but  the  present  generation  has  a  marvelous 
way  of  skimming  around  any  kind  of  work  with  their 
hands.  They'll  work  their  brains  till  they  haven't  got 
any  more  backbone  than  a  caterpillar,  but  as  for  manual 
lal)or,  it's  old  timey  and  out  of  fashion.  1  wonder  how 
these  farms  would  ever  have  been  carved  out  of  the  back- 
woods, if  the  old  Puritans  had  sat  down  on  the  rocks  with 
their  noses  in  a  lot  of  books,  and  tried  to  figure  out  just 
how  little  work  they  could  do,  and  yet  exist." 

"  Now,  father,"  said  Mrs.  Wood,  "  you  are  trying  to  in- 
sinuate that  the  present  generation  is  lazy,  and  Pm  sure  it 
isn't.     Look  at  Harry.     He  works  as  hard  as  you  do." 

"  Isn't  that  like  a  woman?  "said  ^Ir.  Wood,  with  a 
good-natured  laugh.  "  The  present  generation  consists  of 
her  son,  and  the  past  of  her  husband.  I  don't  think  all 
our  young  people  are  lazy,  Hattie  ;  but  how  in  creation, 
unless  the  Lord  rains  down  a  few  farmers,  are  we  going 
to  support  all  our  young  lawyere  and  doctors  ?  They  say 
the  world  is  getting  healthier  and  better,  but  we've  got  to 
fight  a  little  more,  and  raise  some  more  criminals,  and 
we've  got  to  take  to  eating  pies  and  doughnuts  for  break- 
fast again,  or  some  of  our  young  sprouts  from  the  colleges 
will  go  a  begging." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  undervalue  the  advantages  of  a 
good  education,  do  you.  Mr.  Wood  ?  "  said  Mr.  Maxwell. 

"  No,  no,  look  at  Harry  there.  Isn't  he  pegging  away  at 
his  studies  wit^my  hearty  approval  ?  and  he's  going  to  be 
nothing  but  a  plain,  common  farmer.  But  he'll  be  a  better 
one  than  I've  been  though,  because  he's  got  a  trained 


174 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


mind.  I  found  that  out  wlieii  he  was  a  lad  going  to  the 
village  school.  lIcM  layout  his  little  garden  hy  geome- 
try, and  dig  hi.s  tlitchfS  hy  algeljra.     Kducation's  a  help 


to  any  in 


[in.     What  I  am  trvinix  to  ''ct  at  is  this,  that  in 


)tl 


re  to  brains  and  less 


some  way  or  other  we  re  niniiing  mo 
to  hard  work  than  our  forel'atliors  did." 

Mr.  Wood  wjus  beating  on  the  table  with  his  forefinger 
while  he  talked,  and  every  one  was  laughing  at  him. 
"  When  you've  <|uite  finished  speechifying,  John,"  said 
Mrs.  Wood,  "  perhaps  you'll  serve  the  berries  and  pass 
the  cream  and  sugar.  Do  you  get  yellow  cream  like  this 
in  the  village,  Mr.  Maxwell  ?  " 

"  No,  Mrs.  Wood,"  he  said,  "  ours  is  a  nnich  paler  yel- 
low," and  then  there  was  a  great  tinkling  of  china,  and 
passing  of  dishes,  and  talking  and  laughing,  and  no  one 
noticed  that  I  Wiis  not  in  my  usual  place  in  the  hall.  I 
could  not  get  over  my  dread  of  the  green  creature,  and  I 
hu  t  crept  under  the  table,  so  that  if  it  came  out  and 
frightened  Miss  Laura,  I  could  jump  up  and  catch  it. 

When  tea  was  half  over,  she  gave  a.  little  cry.  I 
sprang  up  on  her  lap,  and  there,  gliding  over  the  table 
toward  her,  was  the  wicked-looking,  green  thing.  I 
stepped  on  the  table,  and  had  it  by  the  middle  before  it 
could  get  to  her.  My  hind  legs  wore  in  a  dish  of  jelly,  and 
my  front  ones  were  in  a  plate  of  cake,  and  I  was  very  un- 
comfortable. The  tail  of  the  green  thing  hung  in  a  milk 
pitcher,  and  its  tongue  was  still  soing  at  me,  but  I  held 
it  firmly  and  stood  quite  still. 

"  Drop  it,  drop  it,"  cried  Miss  Laura,  in  tones  of  dis- 
tress, and  Mr.  Maxwell  struck  me  on  the  back,  so  I  let 
the  thing  go,  and  stood  sheepishly  lool|ing  about  me. 
Mr.  "Wood  was  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  laughing  with 
all  bis  might,  and  Mrs.  Wood  was  staring  at  her  untidy 


WHAT  HAPPENED  AT  THE  TEA  TABLE.   17o 


in- 
ilk 


civ 


table  with  rather  a  Ion*;  face.  Miss  Laura  told  me  to 
jump  on  the  floor,  and  then  she  helped  her  aunt  to  take 
the  spoiled  things  oil'  the  tahle. 

I  felt  that  I  hud  done  wrung,  so  I  slunk  out  into  the 
hall.  Mr.  Maxwell  was  sitting  on  the  lounge,  tearini;  his 
handkerchief  in  strips  and  tying  them  around  the  crea- 
ture where  my  teeth  had  stuck  in.  I  had  heen  careful 
not  to  hurt  it  much,  for  I  knew  it  was  a  pet  of  his ;  hut 
he  did  not  know  that,  and  scowled  at  me,  saying:  "You 
rascal,  you've  hurt  my  poor  snake  torrihly." 

I  felt  80  hadly  to  hear  this  that  I  went  and  stood  with 
my  head  in  a  corner.  1  had  almost  rather  he  whipped 
than  scolded.  After  a  while,  Mr.  Maxwell  went  back 
into  the  room,  and  they  all  went  on  with  their  tea.  I 
could  hear  Mr.  Wood's  loud,  cheery  voice,  "The  dog  did 
quite  right.  A  snake  is  mostly  a  poisonous  creature,  and 
his  instinct  told  him  to  protect  his  miatress.  Where  is 
he?    Joe,  Joe." 

I  would  not  move  till  Miss  Laura  came  and  spoke  to 
me.  "Dear  old  dog,"  she  whispered,  "you  knew  the 
snake  was  there  all  the  time,  didn't  you?"  Her  words 
made  me  feel  better,  and  I  follov/ed  her  to  the  dining 
room,  where  Mr.  Wood  made  me  sit  beside  him  and  eat 
scraps  from  his  hand  all  through  the  meal. 

Mr.  Maxwell  had  got  over  his  ill  humor,  and  was  chat- 
ting in  a  lively  way.  "  Good  Joe,"  he  said ;  "  I  was 
cross  to  you,  and  I  beg  your  pardon.  It  always  riles  me 
to  have  any  of  ray  pets  injured.  You  didn't  know  my 
poor  snake  was  only  after  something  to  eat.  Mrs.  Wood 
has  pinned  him  in  my  pocket  so  he  won't  come  out  again. 
Do  you  know  wj^ere  I  got  that  snake,  Mrs.  Wood  ?  " 

"  No,"  she  said  ;  "  you  never  told  me." 

"  It  was  across  the  river  by  Blue  Ridge,"  he  sairl.   "  One 


176 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


<luy  last  sumracr  I  was  out  rowing,  and,  getting  very  hot, 
lied  my  boat  in  the  shade  vt'  a  big  tree.  Some  village 
boys  were  in  the  woods,  and  hearing  u  great  noi.se,  I  went 
to  see  wliat  it  was  all  al)out.  They  were  Hand  of  Mercy 
boys,  and  finding  a  country  boy  beating  a  snake  to  death, 
they  were  remonstrating  with  him  for  liis  cruelty,  tolling 
him  that  some  kinds  of  snakes  were  a  lielp  to  the  farmer, 
and  destroyed  large  numbers  of  field  mice  and  .  her  ver- 
min. The  boy  was  obstinate.  He  had  found  the  snake, 
and  he  insisted  upon  his  right  to  kill  it,  and  they  were 
having  rather  a  lively  timo  when  1  appeared.  I  per- 
suaded them  to  make  the  snake  over  to  me.  Apparently 
it  was  already  dead.  Thinking  it  might  revive,  I  put  it 
on  sorue  grass  in  the  bow  of  the  boat.  It  lay  there 
motionless  for  a  long  time,  and  I  picked  up  my  oars  and 
•started  for  home.  1  had  got  half-way  across  the  river, 
when  1  turned  around  and  saw  that  the  snake  was  gone. 
It  had  just  dr(jpped  into  the  water,  and  was  swimming 
toward  the  bunk  we  had  lefl.     I  turned  and  followed  it. 

"It  swam  slowly  and  with  evident  pain,  lifting  its  head 
every  few  seconds  high  above  the  water,  to  see  which  way 
it  was  going.  On  reaciiing  the  bank  ic  coiled  itself  up, 
throwmg  up  blood  and  water.  I  took  it  up  carefully, 
carried  it  home,  and  nursed  it.  It  soon  got  better,  and 
has  been  a  pet  of  mine  ever  since." 

After  tea  was  over,  and  Mrs.  Wood  and  Miss  Laura 
had  helped  Adele  finish  the  »vork,  they  all  gathered  in 
the  parlor.  The  day  had  beeu  quite  warm,  but  now  a  cool 
wind  had  sprung  up,  and  Mr.  Wood  said  that  it  was  blow- 
ing up  rain. 

Mrs.  Wood  said  that  she  thought  a  fire  would  be  pleas- 
ant ;  so  they  lighted  the  sticks  '^f  wood  in  the  open  grate, 
and  all  sat  round  the  blazing  fire. 


WHAT    HAPPE.VF.D   AT   TIIK  TEA   TABLE.       177 


vaura 
led  in 

,  cool 
Iblow- 


Mr.  Maxwell  tried  to  jr^t  inc  to  make  friends  with  tlie 
little  stiake  that  h'-  M  in  his  haml.s  toward  the  blaze, 
and  now  that  .ov  hat  it  was  hanuless  1  was  not  afraid 
of  it;  hilt  it  did  not  like  in<\  and  put  out  its  funny  little 
toni,'ue  wheiu'ver  I  looked  at  it. 

By-aud-Viv  the  rain  hcj;an  to  strike  against  the  win- 
dows, and  Ml.  Maxwell  said,  "This  is  just  the  nijrlit  for 
a  story.  Tell  us  something  out  of  your  experience,  won't 
you,  Mr.  Wood?" 

"What  ?.liall  1  tfU  you?"  he  said,  good-humoredly. 
He  was  sitting  between  his  wife  and  Mr.  Ilarrv,  and  had 
his  hand  on  Mr.  Harry's  knee. 

".Something  about  animals,"  said  Mr.  Maxwell.  "We 
seem  to  be  on  that  subjoet  to-day." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Wood,  "I'll  talk  about  something 
that  has  been  running  in  my  head  for  many  a  day.  There 
is  a  good  deal  of  talk  nowadays  about  kindness  to  domes- 
tic animals,  but  I  do  not  hoar  much  about  kindness  to 
wild  ones.  The  same  Creator  formed  thera  both.  I  do 
not  see  why  you  should  not  protect  one  as  well  as  the 
other.  I  have  no  more  right  to  torture  a  bear  than  a 
cow.  Our  wild  animals  around  here  are  getting  pretty 
well  killed  off,  but  there  are  lots  in  other  places.  I  used 
to  be  fond  of  hunting  when  I  was  a  boy,  but  I  have  got 
rather disgustod  with  killing  these  late  years;  and  unless 
the  wild  creatures  ran  in  our  streets,  [  would  lift  no  hand 
to  them.  Shall  I  tell  you  some  of  the  sport  we  had  when 
I  wiis  a  youngster?" 

"  Yes,  yes,"  they  all  exclaimed. 


pleas- 
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IMAGE  EVALUATION 
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Hiotographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


33  WfST  MAIN  STRUT 

WiBSTER.N.Y.  14SM 

(716)S72-4S03 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


il'i 


TRAPPINli   WILD    ANIMAI^. 

ELL,"  Mr.  Wood  began :  "  I  was  brought  up,  as 
yon  all  know,  in  the  eastern  part  of  Maine,  and 
we  often  used  to  go  over  into  New  Brunswick 
fi^r  our  sport.  Moose  were  our  best  game.  Did  you  ever 
see  one,  Laura?" 

"  No,  uncle,"  she  said. 

"Well,  when  I  was  a  boy  there  was  no  more  b'^autiful 
Bight  to  me  in  the  world  than  a  moose  with  his  duskv 
hide,  and  long  legs,  and  branching  antlers,  and  shoulders 
standing  higlior  than  a  horse's.  Their  legs  are  so  long 
that  they  can't  eat  close  to  the  ground.  They  browse  on 
the  tops  of  plants,  and  the  tender  shoots  and  leaves  of 
trees.  They  walk  among  the  thick  underbrush,  carrying 
their  horns  adroitly  to  prevent  their  catcliing  in  tlio 
i)ranches,  and  they  step  so  well,  and  aim  so  true,  that 
you'll  scarcely  hear  a  twig  fall  as  they  go. 

"  They're  a  timid  creature  except  at  times.  Then 
they'll  attack  with  hoofs  and  antlers  whatever  comes  in 
their  way.  They  hate  mosquitoes,  and  when  they're  tor- 
mented by  tlicin  its  just  as  well  to  be  careful  about  ap- 
proaching thoni.  Like  all  other  creatures,  the  Lord  hu8 
put  into  them  a  wonderful  amount  of  sense,  and  when  a 
female  moose  has  her  one  or  two  fawns  she  goes  into  tho 
1T8 


Then 


f 


'Moose  wkke  oi'R  bk.st  oamk.' 
Page  I'H. 


TRAPPING   WILD   ANIMAIii. 


170 


deepest  part  of  the  forest,  or  swims  to  islands  in  lari^e 
lakes,  till  they  are  able  to  look  out  for  themselves. 

"  Wei!,  we  used  to  like  to  catch  a  moose,  and  we  had 
different  ways  of  doing  it.  One  way  was  to  snare  them. 
We'd  make  a  loop  in  a  rope  and  hide  it  on  the  ground 
under  the  dead  leaves  in  one  of  their  paths.  This  was 
connected  with  a  young  sapling  whose  top  was  bent  down. 
When  the  moose  stepped  on  the  loop  it  would  release  the 
sapling,  and  up  it  would  bound,  catching  him  by  tlie  leg. 
These  snares  were  always  set  deep  in  the  woods,  and  we 
couldn't  visit  them  very  often.  Sometimes  the  moose 
would  be  there  for  days,,  raging  and  tearing  around,  and 
scratching  the  skin  off  his  legs.  That  was  cruel.  I 
wouldn't  catch  a  moose  in  that  way  now  for  a  hundred 
dollars. 

"  Another  way  was  to  hunt  them  on  snow-shoes  with 
dogs.  In  February  and  March  the  snow  was  deep,  and 
would  carry  men  and  dogs.  Moose  don't  go  together  in 
herds.  In  the  summer  they  wander  about  over  the  forest, 
and  in  the  autumn  they  come  together  in  small  groups, 
and  select  a  hundred  or  two  of  acres  where  there  is  plenty 
of  heavy  undergrowth,  and  to  which  they  usually  confine 
themselves.  They  do  this  so  that  their  tracks  won't  tell 
their  enemies  where  they  are. 

"Any  of  these  places  where  there  were  several  moose 
we  called  a  moose  yard.  We  went  through  the  woods 
till  we  got  on  to  the  tracks  of  some  of  the  animals  belong- 
ing to  it.  then  the  dogs  smelled  them  and  went  ahead  to 
start  them.  If  I  shut  my  eyes  now  I  can  see  one  of  our 
moose  hunts.  The  moose  running  and  plunging  through 
the  snow  crust,  and  occasionally  rising  up  and  striking  at 
the  d(;gs  that  hang  on  to  his  bleeding  flanks  and  legs. 
The  hunters'  fiAes  going  crack,  crack,  crack,  sometimes 


180 


nBAiniFui,  JOE. 


killing  or  woiin<ling  dogs  as  well  as  nionso.  That  too 
was  cruel. 

"Two  other  ways  we  had  of  huiitini:  moose:  r'allini; 
and  stalkin'?.  The  callinj'  was  done  in  this  wav :  Wc 
took  a  bit  of  hirch  bark  and  rolled  it  up  in  the  shape  of 
a  horn.  We  took  tiiis  liorn  and  .started  out,  either  on  a 
briiriit  nioonliirlit  night  or  just  at  evening,  or  early  in  the 
morning.  The  man  wlio  carried  the  horn  hid  him.^elf,  and 
then  began  to  make  a  lowing  sound  like  a  fmiale  moose. 
He  had  to  do  it  pretty  well  to  deceive  them.  Away  in 
the  distance  some  moose  would  hear  it,  and  with  answer- 
ing grunts  would  start  olf  to  coiiio  t(»  it.  If  a  y(jung  male 
moose  wsis  coming,  he"d  mind  hi.s  steps,  I  can  assure 
you,  on  account  of  fear  of  the  old  ones ;  but  if  it  was 
an  old  fellow,  you'd  hear  him  stepping  out  bravely  and 
rapping  his  horns  against  the  trees,  and  plunging  into 
any  water  that  came  in  his  way.  When  he  got  pretty 
near,  he'd  stop  to  listen,  and  then  the  caller  had  to  be 
very  careful  and  put  his  trumpet  down  close  to  the 
ground,  so  as  to  nuike  a  lower  sound  If  the  moose 
felt  doubtful  he'd  turn ;  if  not,  he'd  come  on,  and  un- 
lucky for  him  if  he  did,  for  he  got  a  warm  reception, 
either  from  the  rifles  in  our  hands  as  we  lay  hid  near 
the  caller,  or  from  some  of  the  party  stationed  at  a  distance. 

"  In  stalking,  we  crept  on  tluMu  the  way  a  cat  creeps  on 
a  mouse.  In  the  davtime  a  moose  is  usuallv  Ivinir 
down.  We'd  find  their  tracks  and  places  where 
they'd  been  nipping  off  the  ends  of  branches  and 
twigs,  and  follow  ihem  up.  They  easily  take  the  scent 
of  men,  and  we'd  have  to  keep  well  to  the  windward. 
Sometimes  we'd  come  upon  them  lying  down,  but,  if  in 
walking  along,  we'd  broken  a  twig,  or  made  the  slightest 
noise,  thev'd  think  it  was  one  of  their  mortal  enemies,  a 


;  ! 


TRAPPING    WII.I»    .\SrMAL-s 


::i 


boar — crctiping  on  tli(in,  and  they'd  bo  t:|i  and  uvvuy. 
Tlioir  soust?  of  iicariui^  is  very  kct'ii,  l)Ul  tiioy're  not  so 
(liiick  to  8oe.  A  Ibx  L8  like  that  too.  His  eyw  aren't 
e<}iial  to  hi^  nose. 

"iStalking  is  the  niost  inerciuil  wav  to  kill  a  moose. 
Then  they  haven't  tiie  tri;,'ht  iiiui  >*untring  of  the  chiu«>."' 

"  I  don't  see  why  they  need  to  he  killed  at  all,"  said 
Mrs,  Wooil.  "Ifl  knew  that  tore.«t  back  ot  tii'?  moun- 
tains was  full  of  wild  creatures,  1  think  1  d  be  glad  of  it, 
and  not  want  to  hunt  them,  that  is,  if  they  were  harmleaa 
and  beautiful  creatures  like  the  deer." 

"You're  a  woman,"  said  Mr.  Wood,  "and  women  are 
mure  merciful  than  men.  Men  want  to  kill  and  slay. 
They're  like  the  Englishman,  who  said:  'What  a  tine 
day  it  is;   let's  go  out  and  kill  something.'" 

"  Please  tell  us  some  more  about  the  dogs  that  helped 
you  catch  the  mouse,  uncle,"  sai<l  Mi,«3  Laura.  I  waa 
Bitting  up  very  straiglit  beside  her,  listening  to  every 
word  Mr.  Wood  said,  and  she  was  fondling  my  head* 

"  Well,  Laura,  when  we  eaiiijxd  out  on  the  snow  and 
«lept  on  spruce  boughs  while  we  were  after  moose,  the 
dogs  used  to  be  a  great  comfort  to  us.  They  slept  at  our 
feet  and  kept  us  warm.  Poor  brutes,  they  mostlv  had  a 
rough  time  of  it.  They  enjoyed  the  runniii,'  and  cliiLsinsj 
as  much  a.s  we  did,  but  when  it  came  to  broke.i  ril)s  and 
sore  heads,  it  was  another  matter.  Then  the  porcupinea 
bothered  them.  Our  doL's  would  never  learn  to  let  them 
alone.  It  they  were  going  through  the  W(jods  where  there 
were  no  signs  of  moose  i.iul  found  a  porcupine,  they'd  kill 
it.  The  quills  would  get  in  their  mouths  and  necks  and 
chests,  and  we'd  have  to  gag  thtin  and  take  buUet-moM-j 
or  nippers,  or  whatever  we  had,  sometimes  our  jack- 
knives,  and  pull  out  the  nasty  things.     If  we  got  hold  ot 


tmmma 


182 


BEAUTIFUL   JOE. 


11 


ill 


the  dogs  at  once,  we  could  pull  oiif  the  quilh  with  our 
fingers.  Sumetinies  the  quills  bad  worked  in,  and  llic 
dogs  would  go  home  and  lie  by  the  fire  with  runninu' 
sores  till  they  worked  out.  I've  seen  quills  work  riizlit 
through  dog8.  Go  in  on  one  side,  and  come  out  on  the 
other," 

"  Poor  brutes,"  said  Mrs.  Wood.  "  I  wonder  you  took 
tliem." 

"  We  once  lost  a  valuable  hound  while  moose  hunting," 
said  Mr.  Wood.  "The  moose  struck  him  witjj  his  hoof 
and  the  dog  was  terribly  injured,  and  lay  in  the  woods 
for  days,  till  a  neighbor  of  ours,  who  was  looking  for 
timber,  found  him  and  brought  him  home  on  his 
shoulders.  Wasn't  there  rejoicing  among  us  boys  to  see 
old  Lion  coming  back.  We  took  care  of  him  and  he  got 
V  ..'I  i-  -ain. 

11  waa  good  sport  to  see  the  dogs  when  we  were  hunt- 
ing a  bear  with  them.  Bears  are  good  runners,  and  when 
dogs  get  after  them,  there  is  great  skirmishing.  They  nip 
the  bear  beiiind,  and  when  they  turn,  the  dogs  run 
like  mad,  for  a  hug  from  a  bear  means  sure  death  to 
a  dog.  If  they  got  a  slap  from  his  paws,  over  they'd 
go.  Dogs  new  to  the  business  were  often  killed  by  the 
bears." 

"  Were  there  many  bears  near  your  home,  Mr.  Wood," 
asked  Mr.  Ma.\well. 

"  Lots  of  them.  More  than  we  wanted.  They  used  to 
bother  us  fearfully  about  our  sheep  and  cattle.  I've  often 
had  to  get  up  in  the  night,  and  run  out  to  the  cattle. 
The  bears  would  come  out  of  the  woods,  and  jump  on  to 
the  young  heifers  and  cows,  and  strike  them  and  beat  them 
down,  and  the  cattle  would  roar  as  if  the  evil  one  had 
thera.     If  the  cattle  were  too  far  away  from  the  house  for 


TUAPPINO    Will)    ANIMALS. 


1«;{ 


118  to  hear  them,  the  bears  would  worry  them  till  they 
were  dead. 

"  As  for  the  pheep,  they  never  made  any  resLstance. 
Tliey'd  meekly  run  in  a  corner  when  they  saw  a  l)oar 
coniiiijj:,  and  liuddle  together,  and  he'd  strike  at  them, 
and  scratch  them  with  hi.s  daws,  and  perhaps  wound  a 
dozen  hcfore  he  got  one  firmly.  Tlioii  he'd  seize  it  in  Win 
paws,  and  walk  ofl'on  liis  iiind  legs  over  I'ences  and  any- 
thing else  that  came  in  his  way,  till  he  came  to  a  nice, 
retired  spot,  and  there  he'd  sit  down  and  skin  that  sheep 
just  like  a  butcher.  He'd  gorge  himself  witli  the  meat, 
and  in  the  morning  we'd  find  tlie  (ithcr  sheep  that  he'd 
torn,  and  we'd  vow  vengeance  against  that  bear.  He'd 
be  almost  sure  to  come  back  for  more,  so  for  a  while  ;il'ter 
that  we  always  put  the  slioep  in  tlie  barn  at  nigiits,  and 
set  a  trap  by  the  remains  of  the  one;  he  iuid  eaten. 

"Everybody  hated  bcar.'j,  and  hadn't  much  pity  for 
tliem  ;  still  they  were  only  getting  their  meat  as  other  wild 
animals  do,  and  we'd  no  right  to  sot  sucii  cruel  trap.s  for 
tiiem  as  the  steel  one.«.  Tiiey  had  a  clog  attached  to 
them,  and  had  long,  sliarp  teeth.  We  put  them  on  the 
ground,  and  strewed  leaves  over  them,  and  hung  up  riome 
of  tlie  carcass  left  by  the  bear  near  by.  When  In;  at- 
tempted to  get  tliis  meat,  he  would  tread  on  the  trap,  and 
the  teetii  would  spring  together,  and  catch  him  by  the 
leir.  Tiiev  alwavs  fouiriit  to  L'ct  free.  I  once  saw  a  bear 
that  had  been  making  a  desperate  offort  to  get  away. 
His  leg  was  broken,  the  skin  and  flesh  were  all  torn 
awav,  and  he  was  held  bv  tiie  tendons.  It  was  a  fore- 
leg  that  was  caught,  and  he  w  )ul(l  put  his  hind  feet 
against  the  jaws  of  the  trap,  and  ti.eu  draw  by  picssing 
with  his  feet,  till  he  would  stretch  those  tendons  to  theii 
utmost  extent. 


184 


BKAUTIFUL  JOK. 


I! 


"  I  have  known  thein  tn  w(»rk  away  till  they  really 
pulled  these  tendons  out  of  tin;  foot,  niid  got  otf.  It  \va» 
a  great  event  in  our  neighborhood  wlien  a  bear  \v:w 
caught.  Whoever  caught  him  blew  a  horn,  and  the  nie.i 
and  boys  came  trooping  together  to  see  the  sight.  I've 
known  them  to  blow  that  iiorn  on  a  •Sunday  morning, 
and  I've  seen  the  men  turn  their  backs  on  the  meeting 
house  to  go  and  see  the  bear." 

"  \V;is  there  no  more  merciful  way  of  cat(;hing  them 
than  by  this  trap?"  asked  Mi?s  Laura. 

"Oh,  yes,  by  the  deadfall— that  is  by  driving  heavy 
sticks  into  the  ground,  and  making  a  box-like  place,  open 
on  one  side,  wlu^re  two  logs  were  so  arranged  with  other 
heavy  logs  upon  them,  that  when  the  bear  seized  the  bait, 
the  upper  log  fell  down  and  crushed  him  to  deatl>.  An- 
other way,  was  to  fix  bait  in  a  certain  place,  with  cords 
tied  to  it,  which  cords  were  fiustened  t(»  triggers  of  guns 
placed  at  a  little  distance.  When  the  bear  took  tiie  bait, 
the  guns  went  off,  and  be  shot  himself. 

"Sometimes  it  took  a  gooil  manv  bullets  to  kill  them. 
I  remember  one  old  fellow  that  we  put  eleven  into,  before 
he  keeled  over.  It  was  one  fall,  over  on  Tike's  Hill.  The 
snow  had  come  earlier  tlian  usual,  and  this  old  bear  hadn't 
got  into  his  den  for  his  winter's  sleep.  A  lot  of  us  started 
out  after  him.  The  hill  was  covered  with  beech  trees, 
and  he'd  been  living  a'i  the  fall  on  the  nuts,  till  he'd  got 
as  fat  as  butter.  We  took  dogs  and  worried  him,  and  ran 
him  from  one  place  to  another,  and  shot  at  him,  till  at  last 
he  dropped.  We  took  his  meat  home,  and  had  his  skin 
tanned  for  a  sleigh  robe. 

"  One  day  I  was  in  the  woods,  and  looking  through  the 
tjees  espied  a  bear.  He  was  standing  uj)  on  his  hind  legs 
SDulfiDg  in  every  direction,  and  just  about  the  time  I 


TRAI'PINO    Wii.I)    AMMAIA 


185 


08{iit>(l  liiin,  he  espiod  inc.  I  htul  no  dot;  nnd  nn  jr(in,  so 
I  thuii^lit  i  iiad  iK'tter  he  gcttiiij^  luduc  to  luy  diiiiier.  I 
WM  a.  8i)iall  lioy  tiu-ti,  niul  tlit;  In'iir  prnliahly  thinking  I'd 
he  u  mouthful  for  him  anyway,  h«v^an  to  conio  nflcr  nio 
in  a  K'i.<un'ly  way.  I  can  st-c  my:<«lf  now  going  through 
those  wood:* — hat  ;,'o»'",  Jackit  Hying,  arms  out,  eyes  roll- 
ing over  my  shoulder  overy  littk'  wliilo  to  see  if  llu;  hear 
Wiu  gaining  oil  mv.  He  wtw  a  hL-nc'volciit- looking  old  fel- 
low, and  his  face  seemed  to  say,  '  Don't  hurry,  little  hoy.' 
lie  wasn't  doing  his  prettiest,  and  I  8(»on  got  away  froi' 
him,  hut  I  made  up  my  mind  then,  that  it  was  more  fun 
to  be  the  chju<er  than  the  ehased. 

"Another  time  I  was  out  in  our  cornfield,  and  hearing  a 
rustling,  looked  through  the  stalks,  and  saw  a  hrown  hear 
with  two  cuhs.  She  was  slashing  down  the  corn  with  her 
paws,  to  get  at  the  ears.  She  smelled  me,  and  getting 
frightened,  began  to  run.  I  had  a  <]og  with  me  this  tinje, 
and  shouted  and  rapjK'd  on  the  fence,  and  set  him  on  I  er. 
He  jumped  up  and  snapped  at  her  Hanks,  and  every  few. 
instants  she'd  turn  and  give  him  a  i;iiff,  that  would  send 
him  yards  away.  I  f.,llowed  her  up,  and  just  hack  of  the 
farm  she  and  her  cuhs  took  into  a  tree.  I  sent  my  dog 
home,  and  my  lather  and  some  of  the  neighl)ors  came.  Jt 
had  gotten  dark  by  this  time,  so  we  built  a  fire  under  the 
tree,  and  watched  all  night,  and  told  stories  to  keep  each 
other  awake.  Toward  morning  we  got  sleepy,  and  the 
fire  burnt  low,  and  didn't  that  <dd  bear  and  one  cud  drop 
right  down  among  us  and  start  off  to  the  woods.  That 
waked  us  up.  We  built  up  the  fire  and  kept  watch,  so 
that  the  one  cub,  still  in  the  tree  couldn't  get  away. 
Until  daylight  the  motlier  i)ear  hung  around,  calling  to 
the  cub  to  come  down." 

" Did  you  let  it  go,  uncle?  "  asked  Miss  Laura. 


i 


186 


ItBAUTIFI  L  JOE. 


f 


"No,  my  dear,  wc  phot  it." 

"  IIuw  crm-'I !  "  cried  Mr*..  Wood. 

"  Yi*,  wtTcn't  we  bniKs?"  «ai(i  her  husband;  "but 
there  wu!*  some  excuse  I'or  u»,  Ilattic.  The  bears  ruined 
our  farms.  This  kind  of  huuting  that  hunta  and  kills 
for  the  mere  sakeuf  siaughtor  is  very  ditforent  from  that. 
I'll  tell  you  what  I've  no  patience  with,  and  that's  with 
these  English  folks  that  dress  themselves  up,  and  take 
fine  horses  and  packs  of  dogs,  and  tear  over  the  country 
after  one  little  fux  or  rabbit.  Bah,  it's  contemptible 
Now  if  they  were  hunting  cruel,  man-eating  tigers,  or 
animals  that  destroy  property,  it  would  be  a  diiferent 
thing." 


CIIAPTKIl  XXIV. 


Tin:  RABHiT  xau  the  hen. 


|0U  had  foxes  up  in  Maine,  I  aupposc,  Mr.  Wood, 
hadn't  you?"  askod  Mr.  M:ix\v»ll. 

"  Heaps  of  them.  1  alway.-*  want  to  laugh 
when  1  tliink  of  our  foxes,  for  they  were  go  cute.  Never 
n  fox  did  I  catch  in  a  trap,  thou<;h  I'd  set  many  a  one. 
I'd  take  the  carcass  of  some  creature  that  liad  died,  a 
sheep,  for  in^^tance,  and  put  it  in  a  lieid  near  the  woods, 
and  the  foxes  woidd  come  and  eat  it.  After  tiiey  got 
accustomed  to  come  and  cat  and  no  harm  hefell  them, 
they  would  be  unsuspectin-^.  So  just  before  a  snowstorm, 
I'd'take  a  trap  and  put  it  in  tiiis  spot.  I'd  handle  it 
with  gloves,  and  I'd  smoke  it,  and  rub  iHr  boughs  on  it  to 
take  away  the  human  smell,  and  then  the  snow  would 
come  and  cover  it  up,  ami  yet  those  foxes  would  know  it 
was  a  trap  and  walk  all  around  it.  It's  a  wonderful  thing 
that  sense  of  .jmell  in  animals,  if  it  is  a  sense  of  smell. 
Joe  here  has  got  a  tiood  bit  of  it." 

"What  kind  of  traps  were  they,  father? "  asked  Mr 
Harry. 

"Cruel  ones — steel  ones.  They'd  catch  an  animal  by 
the  leg  and  sometimes  break  the  bone.  The  leg  would 
bleed,  and  below  the  jaws  of  the  trap  it  would  freeze, 
there  being  no  circulation  of  the  blood.     Those  steel  trajw 

187 


188 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


11 


jir; 


1; 


ure  an  abomination.  The  peoplw  around  here  use  one 
muile  on  tlie  same  principle  lor  catcliing  rat.s.  I  wouldn't 
havo  them  on  my  place  lor  any  money.  I  believe  we've 
got  to  give  an  aocouiit  Ibr  all  the  uiinecesdary  suHer- 
ing  've  put  on  aniinalr;." 

"  You'll  havi!  souk;  til  answer  for,  John,  according  to 
your  own  story,"  said  Mrs.  Wooil. 

"1  have  sullered  already,"  he  said.  "  Many  a  night 
I've  lain  on  mv  bod  and  irroaned,  when  1  thoui^ht  of 
ucedle.s!s  cruelties  I'd  put  upon  animals  wIumi  1  was  a 
young,  unthinking  boy — and  I  was  pretty  carefully 
brought  up  too.  according  to  our  liglit  iv  tliose  d:<y8.  I 
olien  tliinU  that  if  I  was  cruel,  with  all  the  instruction  I 
had  to  be  moiciful,  what  can  be  e.Kpccled  of  the  children 
that  get  no  good  uachi:ig  at  all  when  they're  young." 

"Toll  us  pvjnie  more  about  the  fo.\es,  Mr.  Wood,"  said 
Mr.  iMaxwoll. 

"  Well,  we  used  to  have  rare  sport  hunting  thorn  with 
fox-hounds.  I'd  often  go  off  for  the  day  with  my  hounds. 
Sometimes  in  the  early  morning  ilioy'd  lind  a  track  in 
the  snow.  The  loader  for  scent  would  go  back  and  forth, 
to  find  out  which  way  the  fox  wa.s  going.  I  can  see  him 
now.  All  the  time  that  he  ran,  now  one  way  and  now 
another  on  the  track  of  the  fox,  ho  was  silent,  but  kept 
his  tail  ahji't,  wagging  it  as  a  signal  to, the  hounds 
beh'nd.  lie  was  leader  in  scent.  i)ut  he  did  not  like 
bloody,  dangerous  fights.  By-ai  -by,  he  would  decide 
which  way  the  fox  l;ad  gone.  Then  his  tail  still  kept 
high  in  the  air  would  wiv^  more  violently.  The  rest  fol- 
lowed him  in  single  file,  going  pretty  slow,  so  as  to  enable 
us  to  keep  up  to  them.  By-and-by,  tlioy  would  come  to 
a  place  where  the  fox  was  sleeping  for  tlio  ilay.  As  soon 
as  he  w^""  disturbed,  he  would  leave  his  bod  under  some 


THE    RABBIT   AND   TUK    HKV. 


189 


nin^ht 


kept 


thick  fir  or  spnico  hranclies  near  the  ground.  This  flung 
hi.s  fresh  sci-nt  into  tlie  air.  As-SDoa  as  tin-  hounds  hnilled 
it,  they  gave  tonLriie  in  good  earne>l.  It  was  a  inixeil, 
dt'i^p  baying,  that  niadu  tlie  bhxul  <iuick(ii  in  niy  vi'in;?. 
While  in  the  excitement  of  liis  first  I'right,  the  t"ix  woidd 
run  fast  fi)r  a  mile  or  two,  till  he  f  mnd  it  an  easy  juutter 
to  keep  out  of  the  wav  of  the  hounds.  Then  he,  cunning 
creature,  would  begin  to  bother  them.  He  would  mount 
to  the  top  pole  of  the  worm  lence  dividing  the  fields  fr^m 
the  woods.  He  could  trot  along  here  (piite  a  distance 
and  then  make  a  long  jump  into  the  woods.  The  iKUinds 
would  come  up,  but  could  not  walk  the  fence,  and  they 
would  have  diificulty  m  finding  where  the  fox  had  left 
it.  Then  we  saw  generalsliip.  Tiie  hounds  seattcn'd  in 
all  directions,  and  made  long  detours  into  the  woods  and 
fields.  As  soon  as  the  track  wjus  lost,  they  ceased  to  bay, 
but  the  instant  a  hound  found  it  aL'ain,  he  bayed  to  give 
tiie  signal  to  tiie  others.  All  would  hurry  to  the  spot, 
and  off  they  vould  go  baying  !>:5  they  went. 

"Then  Mr  Fox  would  try  a  new  trick.  He  would  climb 
a  leaning  tree,  and  then  jurtip  to  the  ground.  This  trick 
would  soon  be  found  out.  Then  he'd  try  another.  He 
would  make  acircleof  aciuarter  of  a  mile  in  circumference. 
By  making  a  loop  in  his  course,  he  vv(  uld  come  in  behind 
the  hounds,  and  puzzle  them  between  the  scent  of  his  first 
and  following  tracks.  Jf  tl>.8  snow  was  deep,  the  houuds 
had  made  a  good  track  for  h'ln  Over  this  he  could 
run  easily,  and  tliey  would  have  to  feel  their  way  along, 
for  after  he  had  gone  around  the  circle  a  f-'w  times,  he 
would  jump  from  the  beaten  patli  as  far  as  he  could,  and 
make  otf  to  other  C((ver  in  a  struiirht  line.  Befi)re  this 
was  done  it  wivs  my  plan  to  get  near  the  circle,  taking 
care  to  approach  it  on  the  windward  side.     If  the  fox  got 


190 


BKAUTIFUL  JOE. 


! 


a  sniff  of  human  scent,  he  wnukl  leave  his  circle  very 
quickly,  ar.  1  make  tracks  fkst  to  l)e  out  of  danger.  By 
the  baying  of  the  hounds,  the  circle  in  which  the  race  was 
kept  up,  could  be  easily  known.  The  la.st  runs  to  get  near 
enough  to  shoot,  had  to  be  done  when  the  hounds'  bayinjj 
came  from  the  side  of  the  circle  nearest  to  me.  For  then  tho 
fox  would  l)e  on  thd  opposite  side  farthest  away.  As  soon 
as  I  got  near  enough  to  see  the  hounds  when  they  passod, 
1  stopped  When  they  got  on  the  opposite  side,  I  then 
kept  a  bright  lookout  for  the  fox.  Sometimes  when  tho 
brush  was  thick,  the  sight  of  him  would  be  indistinct. 
The  shootinjj  had  to  be  (juick.  As  soon  as  the  report  of 
the  gun  was  heard,  the  hounds  ceased  to  bay,  and  made 
for  the  spot.  If  the  fox  was  dead,  they  enjoyed  the  scent 
of  his  blood.  If  only  wounded,  they  went  after  him 
with  all  speed.  Sometimes  lie  was  overtaken  and  killed, 
and  sometimes  he  got  into  his  burrow  in  the  earth,  or  in 
a  hollow  log,  or  among  thff  rocks. 

"  One  day,  I  remember,  when  I  was  standing  on  tho 
outside  of  the  circle,  the  fox  came  in  sight.  I  fired.  Ho 
gave  a  shrill  bark,  and  came  toward  me.  Then  ho 
stopped  in  the  snow  and  fell  dead  iu  his  tracks.  I  waa 
a  pretty  good  shot  in  those  days." 

"Poor  little  fox,"  said  Miss  Laura.  "  I  wish  you  had 
let  him  get  away." 

"  Here's  one  tliat  nearly  got  away,"  said  Mr.  Wood. 
"One  winter's  day,  I  was  chasing  him  with  the  hounds. 
There  was  a  crust  on  the  snovv,  and  the  fox  was  light, 
while  the  dogs  were  heavy.  They  ran  along,  the  fox 
trotting  iiiiubly  on  the  top  of  tlie  crust  and  the  doga 
breaking  through,  and  every  few  minutes  that  fox  wouhl 
stop  and  sit  down  to  look  at  the  dogs.  They  were  in  a 
fury,  and  the  wickedness  of  the  fox  in  teasing  them, 


THE    RABBIT   AND   TUB    HEX. 


191 


made  me  lau;,'h  so  much  that  I  was  very  unwilling  to 
ahoot  hira." 

"  You  said  your  steel  traps  were  cruel  things,  uncle," 
said  Miss  Laura.  "  Why  didn't  you  have  a  deadfall  for 
the  foxes  sis  you  had  for  the  bears  ?  " 

"They  were  too  cunning  to  go  into  deadfalls.  There 
was  a  better  way  to  catch  them  thougli.  Foxes  hate 
water,  and  never  go  into  it  unlesd  they  are  obliged  to,  so 
we  used  to  find  a  place  where  a  tree  had  fallen  across  a 
river,  and  niiide  a  bridge  for  them  to  go  back  and  forth 
on.  Here  we  set  snares,  with  spring  poles  that  would 
throw  them  into  the  river  wiien  thoy  iuule  struggles  to 
get  free,  and  dnjwn  them.  Did  you  evor  hear  of  the  fox, 
Laura,  that  wanted  to  cross  a  river,  and  lay  down  on  the 
bank  pretending  that  he  was  dead,  and  a  countryman 
came  along,  and  thinking  he  had  a  prize,  threw  him  in 
his  boat  and  rowed  across,  when  the  fox  got  up  and  ran 
away  ?  " 

"Now,  uncle,"  said  Miss  Laura,  "you're  laughing  at 
me.     That  couldn't  be  true." 

"No,  no,"  said  Mr.  Wood,  chuckling,  "but  they're 
mighty  cute  at  pretending  they're  dead.  I  once  shot  one 
in  the  morning,  carried  him  a  long  wav  on  mv  shoulders, 
and  started  to  skin  him  in  tlie  afternoon,  when  lie  turned 
around  and  bit  me  enough  to  draw  blood.  At  another 
time,  I  dug  one  out  of  a  hole  in  the  ground.  He  feigned 
death.  I  took  him  up,  r.nd  threw  him  down  at  some  dis- 
tance, and  he  jura{)ed  up  and  ran  into  the  woods." 

"  What  other  animals  did  you  catch  when  you  were  a 
boy?"  asked  Mr.  Maxwell. 

"Oh,  a  number.  Otters  and  beavers — we  caught  them 
iu  deadfalls  and  in  steel  traps.  The  mink  we  usually 
took  in  deadfalls,  smaller,  of  course,  than  the  on»^s  wo 


192 


BEAUTIFUL  JOK. 


used  for  the  bears.  The  musk-rat  we  caught  in  box  trapa 
like  a  mouse  trap.  The  wild-cat  we  ran  down  like  the 
loitp  cervier " 

"  What  kind  of"  an  animal  is  that?  "  asked  Mr.  Max- 
well. 

"It  Is  a  lynx,  belonging  to  the  cat  species.  They  used 
to  prowl  about  the  couutry  killing  hens,  geese,  and  some- 
times sheep.  They'd  fix  their  tushes  in  the  sheep's  neck 
and  suck  the  blood.  They  did  not  tliink  mucii  of  the 
sheep's  flesli.  We  ran  them  down  with  dogs.  They'd 
often  run  up  tree.s,  and  we'd  shoot  them.  Then  there 
were  rubbits  that  we  caught,  mostly  iu  snares.  For 
musk-rats,  we'd  put  a  parsnij)  or  an  apple  on  tlie  spindle 
of  a  box  trap.  When  we  snared  a  rabbit,  I  always 
wanted  to  iind  it  caught  around  ttie  neck  and  strangled  to 
death.  If  thev  got  half  through  the  snare  and  were 
caught  around  the  body,  or  by  the  hind  legs,  they'd  live 
for  some  time,  and  they'd  cry  just  like  a  child.  I  like 
shooting  them  better,  just  because  I  hated  to  hear  their 
pitiful  cries.  It's  a  bad  business  this  of  killing  dumb 
creatures,  and  the  older  1  get,  the  more  chicken-hearted 
I  am  about  it." 

"Chicken-hearted — I  siiould  think  you  are,"  said  Mrs. 
Wood.  "  Do  you  know,  I.aura,  iio  won't  even  kill  a  fowl 
for  dinner.     lie  gives  it  lo  one  of  the  men  to  do." 

"  '  Blessed  are  the  merciful,'  "  said  Miss  Luuru,  tlirow- 
ing  her  arm  over  her  uncle's  shoulder.  "I  l^ve  you, 
dear  Uncle  John,  because  vou  are  so  kind  to  every  living 
thing." 

"  I'm  going  to  be  kin.)  to  you  now,"  said  I'er  uncle, 
"  and  send  you  to  bed.     Vou  look  tired." 

"  Very  well,"  she  said,  with  a  smile.  Then  bidding 
them  all  good-night,  she  went  upstairs.    Mr.  Wood  turned 


THE    RABBIT  AND  THE   HEX. 


193 


to  Mr.  Maxwell.    "You're  going  to  stay  all  uiglil  with 
us,  aren't  you  ?  " 

"  So  Mrs.  Wood  says,"  replied  the  young  man,  with  a 
smile. 

"  Of  course,"  she  said.  "  I  couldn't  tliink  of  letting 
you  go  back  tu  the  village  such  a  night  as  this.  It's  rain- 
ing cats  and  dogs — but  I  mustn't  say  tliat,  or  there'll  be 
no  getting  you  to  stay.  I'll  go  and  prepare  your  old  room 
next  to  Harry's."     And  she  bustled  away. 

The  two  young  men  went  to  the  pantry  for  doughnuts 
and  milk,  and  Mr.  Wood  stood  gazing  down  at  me. 
"Good  dog,"  he  said,  "you  looked  as  if  yoii  sensed  that 
talk  to-night.     Come,  get  a  bone,  and  then  away  to  bed." 

He  gave  me  a  very  large  mutton  bone,  and  I  held  it  in 
my  mouth,  and  watched  him  opening  the  woodshed  door. 
I  love  human  beings ;  and  the  saddest  time  of  day  for 
me  is  when  I  have  to  be  separated  from  them  while  they 
sleep. 

"  Now  go  to  bed  and  rest  well,  Beautiful  Joe,"  saul  Mr. 
Wood,  "and  if  you  hear  any  stranger  round  the  house, 
run  out  and  bark.  Don't  be  chasing  wild  animals  in 
your  sleep,  though.  They  say  a  dog  is  the  only  animal 
that  dreams.  I  wonder  whether  it's  true?"  Then  he 
went  into  the  house  and  shut  the  door. 

I  had  a  sheepskin  to  lie  on,  and  a  very  good  bed  it 
made.  I  slept  soundly  for  a  long  time ;  then  I  waked  up 
and  found  that,  instead  of  rain  pattering  against  the  roof, 
and  darkness  everywhere,  it  was  quite  liglit.  The  rain 
waa  over,  and  the  moon  was  shining  beautifully.  I  ran 
to  the  door  and  looked  out.  It  was  almost  as  light  as  day. 
The  moon  made  it  very  bright  all  aroun<I  the  house  and 
farm  buildings,  and  I  could  look  all  about  and  see  that 
there  was  no  one  stirring.    I  took  a  turn  around  the  yard, 

N 


194 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


.  -t 


and  walked  around  to  the  side  of  the  house,  to  glance  up 
at  Miaa  Laura's  window.  I  always  did  this  several  times 
through  the  night,  just  to  see  if  she  was  quite  safe  I  was 
on  my  way  back  to  my  bed,  when  I  saw  two  small,  white 
things  moving  away  down  the  lano.  I  stood  on  the  ve- 
randa and  watched  them.  When  they  gut  nearer,  I  saw 
that  tht>re  vius  a  white  rabbit  hopping  up  the  road,  fol- 
lowed by  a  white  hen. 

It  seemed  to  me  a  very  strange  thing  for  these  creatures 
to  be  out  this  time  of  night,  and  why  were  they  coming 
to  Dingley  Farm  ?  This  wasn't  their  home.  I  ran  down 
on  the  road  and  stood  in  front  of  them. 

Just  as  soon  as  the  hen  8aw  me,  she  fluttered  in  front 
of  the  rabi)it,  and  spreading  out  her  wings  clucked  an- 
grily, aud  acted  as  if  she  would  peck  my  eyes  out  if  I 
came  nearer. 

I  saw  that  they  were  harmless  creatures,  and  remember- 
ing my  adventure  with  the  snake,  I  stepped  aside.  Besides 
that,  I  knew  by  their  smell  that  they  had  been  near  Mr. 
Maxwell,  so  jierhaps  they  were  after  him. 

They  understood  quite  well  that  I  would  not  hurt  them, 
and  passed  by  me.  The  rabbit  went  ahead  again,  and  the 
hen  fell  behind.  It  seemed  to  me  that  the  hen  was  sleepy, 
and  didn't  like  to  be  out  so  late  at  night,  and  was  only 
following  the  rabbit  because  she  tliought  it  was  her  duty. 

He  was  going  along  in  a  very  queer  fiisliion,  putting 
his  nose  to  the  ground,  and  rising  up  on  his  liind  legs, 
and  sniffing  the  air,  first  on  this  side  and  then  on  the 
other,  aud  his  nose  going,  going  all  the  time. 

He  smelled  all  around  the  house  till  he  came  to  Mr. 
Maxwell's  room  at  the  back.  It  opened  on  the  veranda 
by  a  glass  door,  aud  the  door  stood  ajar.  The  rabbit 
squeezed  himself  in,  and  the  hen  stayed  out.    She  watched 


THE   IIABBIT   AND  THE   HEN. 


195 


for  a  while,  and  when  he  didn't  come  back,  she  flew  up 
on  the  back  of  a  chair  that  stood  near  the  door,  and  put 
her  head  under  her  wing. 

I  went  back  to  my  bed,  for  I  knew  they  wouhl  do  no 
harm.  Early  in  the  morning,  when  I  wa.s  walking  around 
the  house,  I  heard  a  great  shouting  and  luughing  from 
Mr.  Maxwell's  room.  He  and  Mr.  Harry  had  jusfdis- 
coveredthe  hen  and  the  rabbit;  and  Mr.  Harry  wjis  call- 
ing his  motlicr  to  come  and  look  at  them.  Tlie  rabbit 
had  slept  on  the  foot  of  the  bed. 

Mr.  Harry  was  chafhng  Mr.  ^^a.xwell  very  much,  and 
was  telling  him  that  any  one  who  entertained  hi; »  was  in 
for  a  traveling  menagerie.  They  had  a  great  deal  of 
fun  over  it,  and  Mr.  Maxwell  said  that  he  had  had  that 
pretty,  white  hen  as  a  pet  for  a  lontr  time  in  Boiiton. 
Once  when  she  had  some  little  chickens,  a  frightened  rab- 
bit, that  was  being  chased  by  a  dog,  ran  into  the  yard. 
In  his  terror  he  got  right  under  the  hen's  wings,  and  she 
sheltered  him,  and  pecked  at  the  dog's  eyes,  and  kept  him 
off  till  help  came.  The  rabbit  belonged  to  a  nei^'libor's 
boy,  and  Mr.  Maxwell  bought  it  from  him.  From  the 
day  the  hen  protected  him,  she  became  his  friend,  and 
followed  him  everywhere. 

I  did  not  wonder  that  the  rabbit  wanted  to  see  his  mas- 
ter. There  was  something  about  that  young  man  that 
made  dumb  animals  just  delight  in  him.  When  Mrs. 
Wood  mentioned  this  to  him  he  said,  "  I  don't  know  why 
thev  should — I  d<jn't  do  anything  to  fiisciuatt  them." 

"  You  love  them,"  she  said,  "  and  they  know  it.  That 
is  the  reason." 


I 


FAB 

f'S; 

[|i 

II 


I 


.*«  ^o""^.  ,...:^^#:»  .-«.;■») 


t'4%'»*_.3i^-^^fe 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


A    IIAI'PY    HORSE. 


JOR  a  good  while  after  I  went  to  Dingley  Farm 
I  was  very  shy  of  the  horses,  for  I  was  afraid 
they  might  kick  me,  thinking  that  I  was  a  bad 
dog  like  Bruno.  However,  they  all  had  such  good  faces, 
and  looked  at  me  so  kindly,  that  I  was  beginning  to  get 
over  my  fear  of  them. 

Fleetfoot,  Mr.  Harry "s  colt,  was  my  favorite,  and  one 
afternoon,  when  Mr.  Harry  and  ^liss  Laura  were  going 
out  to  see  him,  I  followed  them.  Hectfoot  wtis  amusing 
himself  by  rolling  over  and  over  on  the  grass  under  a 
tree,  but  when  he  saw  Mr.  Harry,  he  gave  a  shrill 
whinny,  and  running  to  him,  began  nosing  about  his 
pockets. 

"  Wait  a  bit,"  said  Mr.  Harry,  holding  him  by  the 
forelock.  "  Let  me  introduce  you  to  this  young  lady. 
Miss  Laura  Morris.  I  want  you  to  make  her  a  bow." 
He  gave  the  colt  some  sign,  and  immediately  he  began  to 
paw  the  ground  and  shake  his  head. 

Mr.  Harry  laughed  and  went  on :  "  Here  is  her  dog 
Joe.  I  want  you  to  like  him  too.  Come  here,  Joe."  I 
was  not  at  all  afraid,  for  I  knew  Rfr.  Harry  would  not  let 
him  hurt  me,  so  I  stood  in  front  of  him,  and  for  the  first 
time  had  a  good  look  at  him.  They  called  him  the  cult, 
196 


A   HAPPY   HOR^E. 


197 


bis 

the 
adv, 


dog 
I 

otlct 
first 
cult, 


but  he  was  really  a  full-grown  horse,  and  had  already 
been  put  lo  work.  IIo  was  of  a  <iark  chestnut  color,  and 
had  a  welUshaped  body  and  a  long,  handsome  head,  and  I 
never  saw  in  the  head  of  a  nmn  or  beast,  a  more  beautiful 
pair  of  eyes  than  that  colt  had — large,  full,  brown  eyes 
they  were  that  he  turned  on  me  almost  iis  a  person  would. 
He  looked  me  all  over  as  if  to  say  :  "  Are  you  a  good 
dog,  and  will  you  treat  me  kindly,  or  arc  you  a  bad  one 
like  Bruno,  and  will  you  chose  me  and  snap  at  my  heels 
and  worry  me,  so  that  I  shall  want  to  kick  yo\i  ?  " 

I  looked  at  him  very  earnestly  and  wairged  my  body, 
and  lifted  myself  on  my  hind  legs  toward  him.  He 
seemed  pleased  and  put  down  his  nose  to  snitf  at  me,  and 
then  we  were  friends.  Friends,  and  such  good  friends,  for 
next  to  Jim  and  Billy,  I  have  loved  Fleetwood. 

Mr.  Harry  pulled  some  lumps  of  sugar  out  of  his 
pocket,  and  giving  them  to  Miss  Laura,  told  her  to  put 
them  on  the  palm  of  her  hand  and  hold  it  out  flat  toward 
Fleetwood.  The  colt  ate  the  sugar,  and  all  the  time  eyed 
her  wii.h  his  quiet,  observing  glance,  that  made  her 
exclaim :     "  What  a  wise-looking  colt ! " 

"  He  is  like  an  old  horse,"  said  Mr.  Harry.  "  When 
he  hears  a  sudden  noise,  he  stops  and  looks  all  about  him 
to  find  an  explanation." 

"  He  hsis  been  well  trained,"  said  Miss  Laura. 

"  I  have  brought  him  up  carefully,"  said  Mr.  Harry. 
"  Really,  he  has  been  treated  more  like  a  dog  than  a 
colt.  He  follows  me  about  the  farm  and  smells  every- 
thing I  handle,  and  seems  to  want  to  know  the  reason  of 
things." 

"  Your  mother  says,"  replied  Miss  Laura,  "  that  she 
found  you  both  asleep  on  the  lawn  one  day  last  summer, 
and  the  colt's  head  was  on  your  arm." 


I   I 


I 


198 


BEATTTIFUL  JOE. 


Mr.  Harry  emiled  and  threw  his  arm  over  the  colt's 
ueck.  "We've  been  comrades,  havoii't  we,  Fleutfoot? 
I've  been  almost  aslianiod  of  his  devotion.  He  has  fol- 
lowed me  to  the  village,  and  he  always  wants  to  go  fish- 
ing with  rae.  He's  four  years  old  now,  so  he  ought  to 
get  over  those  coltish  ways.  I've  driven  him  a  good 
deal.  We're  going  out  in  the  buggy  this  afternoon,  will 
you  come?" 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  asked  Miss  Laura. 

"  Just  for  a  short  drive  back  of  the  river,  to  collect 
some  money  for  father.  I'll  be  home  long  before  tea 
time." 

"  Yes,  I  should  like  to  go,"  said  Miss  Laura.  "  I  will 
go  to  the  house  and  get  my  other  hat." 

"  Come  on,  Fleetfoot,"  said  Mr.  Harry.  And  he  led  the 
way  from  the  pasture,  the  colt  following  behind  with  me. 
I  waited  about  the  veranda,  and  in  a  short  time  Mr. 
Harry  drove  up  to  the  front  door.  The  buggy  was  black 
and  shining,  and  Fleetfoot  had  on  a  silver-mounted  har- 
ness that  made  him  look  very  fine.  He  stood  gently 
switching  his  long  tail  to  keep  the  flics  away,  and  with 
his  head  turned  to  see  who  was  going  to  get  into  the 
buggy.  I  stood  by  him,  and  as  soon  as  he  saw  that  Miss 
Laura  and  Mr.  Harry  had  seated  themselves,  he  acted  as 
if  he  wanted  to  be  off".  Mr.  Harry  spoke  to  him  and 
away  he  went,  I  racing  down  the  lane  by  his  side,  so 
happy  to  think  he  was  my  friend.  He  liked  having  me 
beside  him,  and  every  few  seconds  put  down  his  head 
toward  rae.  Animals  can  toU  each  other  things  without 
saying  a  word.  When  Fleetfoot  gave  his  head  a  little 
toss  in  a  certain  way,  I  knew  that  he  wanted  to  have  a 
race.  He  had  a  beautiful  even  gait,  and  went  very 
swiftly.    Mr.  Harry  kept  speaking  to  him  to  check  him. 


A    HAPPY    HOaSE. 


190 


"  You  don't  like  him  to  go  too  fjiat,  do  you  ?  "  said  Mii« 
Laura. 

"No,"  he  returned.  "  I  tliirik  we  could  make  a  racer 
of  him  if  we  liked,  hut  fatiicr  and  I  don't  go  in  for  fust 
horses.  There  is  too  much  mud  ahout  fast  trotters  and 
race  horses.  On  some  of  the  farms  around  here,  the 
people  have  gone  mad  on  hrecding  fa.st  horsi-s.  An  old 
farmer  out  in  the  country  had  a  common  cart-horse  that 
he  suddenly  found  out  liad  great  powers  of  speed  and 
endurance.  He  sold  him  to  a  spt'cuiator  for  a  big  price, 
and  it  has  set  everybody  wild.  If  the  people  who  give 
all  their  time  to  it  can't  ral^e  fast  horses,  I  don't  see  how 
the  farmers  can.  A  foi^t  horse  on  a  farm  is  ruination 
to  the  boys,  for  it  starts  them  racing  and  betting.  Father 
says  he  is  going  to  oH'er  a  prize  for  the  fa.stest  walker  that 
can  be  bred  in  New  Ilamp.shire.  That  Dutchman  of 
ours,  heavy  as  he  is,  is  a  fair  walker,  and  Cleve  and  Pacer 
can  each  walk  four  and  a  half  miles  an  hour." 

"  Why  do  you  lay  such  stress  on  their  walking  Aist?  " 
asked  Miss  Laura. 

"  Because  so  much  of  the  farm  work  luust  be  done  at  a 
walk.  Ploughing,  teaming,  and  drawing  produce  to 
market,  and  going  up  and  down  hills.  Even  for  the 
cities  it  is  good  to  have  fast  walkers.  Trotting  on  city 
pavements  is  very  hard  on  the  dray  horses.  If  they  are 
allowed  to  go  at  a  quick  walk,  their  legs  will  keep  strong 
much  longer.  It  is  siiameful  the  way  horses  arc  used  up 
in  big  cities.  Our  pavements  are  so  bad  that  cab  horses 
are  used  up  in  three  years.  In  many  ways  we  are  a  great 
deal  better  oH"  in  this  new  country  than  the  people  in 
Europe ;  but  we  are  not  in  resj>ect  (jf  cab  horses,  for  in 
London  and  Paris  they  last  for  five  years.  I  have  seen 
horses  drop  down  dead  in  New  York,  just  from  hard 


200 


BEAUTIFUL   JOE. 


h^,i 


tiHngc.  Po<>r  hrutofl,  there  u  a  better  time  cumiDg  fur 
tiiem  thnugh.  Wlien  electricity  is  more  fully  (levcioiMxl, 
we'll  see  »om(!  wonderful  chuDgc8.  Ah  it  is,  lutit  year  in 
(litli-rent  placed,  about  thirty  tliouisaml  horded  were 
releiuted  i'miu  thuac  abomiiuihlu  iKjnse  earn,  by  having 
electricity  introduced  on  the  roads.  Will,  Fleetfoot,  do 
you  want  another  spin  ?     All  ri;;ht,  my  l»(»y,  go  ahead." 

Away  we  went  n^;ain  along  a  l»it  of  level  road.  Fleet- 
foot  bad  no  eheclv-rein  on  hit}  beautifid  neck,  and  when 
he  trotted,  he  could  hold  his  head  in  an  easy,  natural 
position.  With  his  wonderful  eyes  and  ilowing  mane  and 
tail,  and  his  glossy,  reddish-brown  body,  I  thought  that 
he  was  the  handsomest  '  /rse  I  had  ever  seen.  He 
loved  to  go  fast,  and  when  Mr.  Harry  spoke  to  him  to 
glow  up  again,  he  tossed  his  head  with  impatience.  But 
he  was  too  8weet-temjR>red  to  disobey.  In  all  the  years 
that  I  have  known  Fleetfoot,  I  have  never  once  seen  him 
refuse  to  do  as  his  master  told  him. 

"  You  have  forgotten  your  whip,  haven't  you  Harry?" 
I  heard  Miss  Laura  say,  as  we  jogged  slowly  along,  and  I 
ran  by  the  buggy  panting  and  with  ray  tongue  hanging 
out. 

"  I  never  use  one,"  said  Mr.  Harry  ;  "  if  I  saw  any  man 
lay  one  on  Fleetfoot,  I'd  knock  him  down."  His  voice 
was  so  severe  that  I  glanced  up  into  the  buggy.  He 
looked  just  as  he  did  the  day  that  he  stretched  Jenkins  on 
the  ground,  and  gave  him  a  beating. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  don't,"  said  Mi«s  Laura.  "  You 
arc  like  the  Russians.  Many  of  them  control  their  horses 
by  their  voices,  and  call  them  such  pretty  names.  But 
you  have  to  use  a  whip  for  some  horses,  don't  vuu,  Cousin 
Harry?" 

"  Yes,  Laura.    There  are  many  vicious  horses  that 


A    HAPPY    IIOIl.SE. 


201 


that 


can't  be  controlled  othtTwine,  and  thon  with  many  hornea 
one  re<|iiire«  a  whip  in  ciwe  of  noconsity  for  urging  thcni 
forward." 

"  I  HuppoHC  Flwtfoot  never  balks,"  said  Mi."»s  Laura. 

"  No,"  replied  Mr.  Hurry  ;  *'  Diitclimun  sometimes  does, 
and  we  have  two  ciire!«  tor  him,  both  equally  good.  We 
take  up  a  forefoot  and  strike  hid  shoe  two  or  three  times 
with  a  fitone.  The  operation  alway.<»  interest.s  him  greatly, 
and  he  usually  .start*.  If  lie  doesn't  go  for  that,  we  piu«  a 
line  round  Win  forelegs,  at  the  knee  joint,  then  go  in  front 
of  him  and  draw  on  the  line.  Father  won't  let  the  men 
use  a  whip,  unless  they  are  driven  to  it." 

"  Fleetfoot  has  had  a  happy  life,  hasn't  he?"  said  Miss 
Laura,  looking  admiringly  at  him.  "  How  did  he  get  to 
like  you  so  nuieh,  Harry?" 

"1  broke  him  in  after  a  riu«hion  of  my  own.  Father 
gave  him  to  me,  and  the  fin-t  time  I  saw  him  on  his  feet, 
1  went  up  earcfully  and  put  my  hand  on  him.  His  mother 
was  rather  shy  of  me,  for  we  hatln't  had  her  long,and  itmade 
him  shy  too,  so  I  soon  left  him.  The  next  time  I  stroked 
him ;  the  next  time  I  put  my  arm  around  him.  Soon  he 
acted  like  a  big  dog.  I  could  lead  him  about  by  a  strap, 
and  I  made  a  little  halter  and  a  bridle  for  him.  I  <li(ln't 
see  why  I  shouldn't  train  him  a  little  while  he  was  young 
and  manageable.  I  think  it  is  cruel  to  let  colts  run  till  one 
has  to  employ  severity  in  mastering  them.  Of  course,  I 
did  not  let  him  do  much  work.  Colts  are  like  boys — a 
boy  shouldn't  do  a  man's  work,  but  he  had  exercise  every 
day,  and  I  trained  him  to  draw  a  light  cart  behind  him. 
I  used  to  do  ail  kinds  of  things  to  accustom  him  to  un- 
usual  sounds.  Father  talked  a  good  deal  to  me  about 
liarey,  the  great  horse  tamer,  and  it  put  ideas  into  my 
head.    He  said  he  once  saw  Rarey  come  ou  ^  stage  in 


202 


BEAUTIFUL   JOE. 


•^i 


Boston  with  a  timid  horse  that  he  was  ffoing  to  accustom 
to  a  loud  noise.  First  a  bugle  was  blown,  then  some 
louder  instrument,  and  so  on,  till  there  w:ls  a  whole  brass 
band  going.  Rarev  reassured  the  animal,  and  it  was  not 
afraid." 

''You  like  horses  better  than  any  other  animals,  don't 
you,  Harry?"  asked  Miss  Laura. 

•'  I  believe  I  do,  though  I  am  very  fond  of  that  dog  cT 
yours.  I  think  I  know  more  about  horses  than  dogs. 
Have  you  noticed  Scamp  very  much?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  I  ofben  watched  her.  She  is  such  an  amusing 
little  creature." 

"  She's  the  mr-'.t  interesting  one  we've  got,  that  is,  after 
Fleetfoot.  Father  got  her  from  a  man  who  couldu  t 
manage  her,  and  she  came  to  us  with  a  legion  of  bad 
tricks.  Father  has  taken  solid  comfort  though,  in  break- 
ing her  ot  them.  She  is  his  pet  among  cur  stock.  I 
suppose  you  know  that  horses,  more  than  any  other  ani- 
mals, are  creatures  of  habit.  If  they  do  a  thing  once, 
they  will  do  it  again.  When  she  came  to  us,  she  had  a 
trick  of  biting  at  a  person  who  gave  her  oats.  She  would 
do  it  without  fail,  so  father  put  a  little  stick  under  his 
arm,  and  every  time  she  would  bite,  he  would  give  her  a 
rap  over  the  nose.  She  soon  got  tired  of  biting,  and  gave 
it  up.  Sometimes  now,  you'll  see  her  make  a  snap  at 
father  as  if  she  was  going  to  bite,  and  then  look  under  his 
arm  to  see  if  the  stick  is  there.  He  cured  some  of  her 
tricks  in  one  way,  and  some  in  another.  One  bad  owe 
she  had,  Wius  to  start  for  the  stable  the  minute  one  of  tiio 
tracos  wits  luit'astened  when  we  were  unharnessing.  She 
pulled  father  over  once,  and  another  time  she  ran  the 
shaft  of  the  sulky  clean  through  the  baru  door.  The 
ne\t  time  father  brought  her  in,  he  got  ready  for  her. 


A   HAPPY    HORSE. 


203 


atom 

some 

jrass 

IS  not 


.d  or»c 
uf  the 

She 
Lii  the 

The 
r  her. 


He  twisted  the  lines  around  his  hands,  and  the  minute 
«he  begai.  to  bolt,  lie  gave  a  treinendoua  jerk,  tiiat  pijllud 
her  back  upon  her  haunches,  and  shouted,  '  Whoa.'  It 
cured  her,  and  siie  never  startul  again,  till  he  gave  her 
the  word.  Often  now,  you'll  see  her  throw  her  head 
back  when  she  is  being  unhitched.  He  only  d;d  it  once, 
yet  she  remembers.  If  we'd  hud  the  training  of  Scamp, 
she'd  be  a  very  different  animal.  It's  nearly  all  in  the 
bringing  U[)  of  a  colt,  whether  it  will  turn  out  viciou.i  or 
gentle.  If  any  one  were  to  strike  Floetfoot,  he  would  not 
know  what  it  nvjant.  He  has  been  brought  up  iliU'erently 
from  Scamp. 

"She  was  probably  trained  by  some  brutal  man  who 
inspired  her  with  distrust  of  the  human  species.  Sho 
never  bites  an  animal,  and  seems  attached  to  all  the 
other  horses.  She  loves  Fleetfoot  and  Cleve  and  Pacer. 
Those  three  are  her  favorites." 

"  I  love  to  go  for  drives  with  Cleve  and  Pacer,"  said 
Miss  Laura,  "  they  are  so  steady  and  good.  Uncle  says 
they  are  the  most  trusty  horses  he  has.  He  lias  told  me 
about  the  n.an  you  had,  who  said  that  tho.*v;  two  horse* 
knew  more  than  most  '  humans.'  " 

"That  was  old  Davids,'  said  Mr.  Harry ;  "when  wa 
had  him,  he  was  courting  a  widow  who  lived  over  iu 
Iloytville.  About  once  a  fortnight,  he'd  ask  father  for 
one  of  the  horses  to  go  over  to  see  her.  He  always  stayed 
pretty  late,  and  on  the  way  home  he'd  tie  the  reins  to  the 
whip-stock  and  go  to  sleep,  and  never  wake  up  till  Clevo 
or  Pacer,  wliichever  one  he  happened  to  have,  would  draw 
up  in  the  barnyard.  They  would  pass  any  rigs  they  hap- 
pened to  meet,  aud  turn  out  a  little  for  a  niau.  If  Davids 
wasn't  asleep,  he  could  always  tell  by  the  ditfereiice  in 
their  gait,  which  they  were  pa.s.sing.     They'd  go  quickly 


204 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


'! 


i',1 


I:! 


f; 


past  a  man,  and  much  slower,  with  more  of  a  turn  out,  if 
it  was  ji  team.  But  1  dare  say  father  told  you  this.  He 
has  a  j^reat  stock  of  horse  stories,  and  I  am  ahnost  a**  bud. 
You  will  have  to  cry  '  halt,'  when  we  bore  you." 

"  You  never  do,"  replied  Miss  Laura.  *'  I  love  to  talk 
about  animals.  I  think  the  best  story  about  Cleve  and 
Pacer,  is  the  one  that  uncle  told  me  la.«t  evening.  I  dorj't 
think  vou  were  there.     It  was  about  fctearni''  tiie  oaw." 

"  Cle\  and  Pacer  never  .steal,"  said  Mr.  Harry, 
"  Don't  you  mean  Scamp?     She's  the  thief." 

"No,  it  was  Pacer  that  stole.  He  L'ot  out  of  his  box, 
uncle  says,  and  found  two  ])ags  of  oats,  and  he  took  one 
in  his  teeth  and  droppiMl  it  before  Cleve,  and  ate  the  other 
himself,  and  uncle  was  so  amused  that  he  let  them  eat  a 
h)ng  time,  and  st(»od  and  watched  them." 

"  Thattma  a  clever  trick,"  yaid  Mr.  Harry.  "  Father 
must  have  forgotten  to  tell  me.  Those  two  horses  have 
been  mates  ever  since  I  can  remember,  and  I  believe  if 
they  were  separated,  they'd  pine  away  and  die.  You  have 
noticed  how  low  the  partitions  are  between  tlie  boxcH  in 
the  horse  stable.  Father  says  you  wouldn't  put  a  lot  of 
j)eople  in  separate  boxes  in  a  room,  where  they  couldn'i. 
see  each  other,  and  horses  are  just  as  fond  of  company  tut 
we  are.  Cleve  and  Pacer  are  always  nosing  each  other, 
A  horse  hiis  a  long  memory.  Father  has  had  horw'S 
recognize  him,  that  he  has  been  parted  from  for  twenty 
years.  Speaking  of  their  memories,  reminds  me  of  an- 
other good  story  about  Pacer,  that  I  never  heard  till 
yesterday,  and  that  I  would  not  talk  about  to  any  one  but 
you  and  mother.  Father  wouldn't  write  me  about  it,  fur 
he  never  will  put  a  line  on  paper  where  any  one's  reputa- 
tion is  concerned." 


I! 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 


THK  BOX  OF  MONEY 


HIS  story,"  said  M!r.  Harry,  '  is  about  one  of  the 
liired  men  we  liad  last  winter,  wliose  name  was 
Jacobs.  He  was  a  cunniiii^  fellow,  with  a  hang- 
dog lu(»k,  and  a  great  cleverness  at  stealing  farm  produce 
from  father  on  the  tjiy,  and  selling  it.  Father  knew  per- 
fectly well  what  he  was  doing,  and  was  wondering  what 
would  be  the  b(;st  way  to  deal  with  him,  when  one  day 
something  happened  that  brought  matters  to  a  climax. 

"Father  had  to  go  to  Sudbury  for  fanning  tools,  and 
took  Pacer  and  the  cutter.  There  are  two  ways  of  going 
there — one  the  Sudbury  Road,  and  the  otlur  tlie  old  Post 
Road,  which  is  longer  and  seldom  used.  On  this  occasion 
father  took  the  Post  Road.  The  snow  wasn't  deep,  and 
he  wanted  to  inquire  after  an  old  m;in  who  had  b(>(  n 
robbed  and  half  frightened  to  deatli,  a  few  days  before. 
He  wa.s  a  miserable  old  creature,  known  as  Miser  JcrruliI, 
and  he  lived  alone  with  his  daug!>ter.  He  had  save<l  a 
little  money  that  he  kept  in  a  box  under  his  bed.  When 
father  got  near  the  place,  he  was  astonished  to  see  by  Pa- 
cer's actions  that  he  had  been  on  this  road  before,  and  re- 
cently too.  Father  is  so  sharp  about  horse.**,  that  they 
never  do  a  thing  that  he  doesn't  attach  a  meaning  to.  So 
he  let  the  reins  hang  a  little  loose,  and  kept  his  eye  on 

206 


206 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


Pacer.  The  horae  went  al  ig  the  road,  and  seeing  father 
didn't  direct  him,  turned  into  the  hme  Icadiut;  to  tlie 
house.  There  wius  an  old  rod  gate  at  the  end  of  it,  and 
he  stopped  in  front  of  it,  and  waited  for  father  to  get 
out.  Then  he  passed  through,  and  instead  of  going  up  to 
tlie  house,  curncd  around,  and  stood  with  his  head  toward 
the  road. 

"  Father  never  said  a  word,  but  he  was  doing  a  lot  of 
thinking.  He  went  into  the  house,  and  found  the  ohl 
man  sitting  over  the  fire,  rubbing  iiis  hands,  and  half- 
crying  about  'the  few  poor  dollars,'  that  he  said  he  had 
had  stolen  from  liim.  Father  had  never  seen  him  before, 
but  he  knew  he  had  the  name  of  being  half-silly,  and 
question  him  as  much  as  he  liked,  he  could  make  nothing 
of  him.  Tiie  daughter  said  that  tiicy  iiad  gone  to  bed  at 
darlr  tlio  night  her  father  was  robbed.  She  slept  up- 
stairs, and  he  down  below.  About  ten  o'clock  slie  heard 
him  scream,  and  running  downstairs,  she  found  him  sit- 
ting up  in  bed,  and  the  window  wide  open.  He  said  a 
man  had  sprung  in  upon  him,  stuffed  the  bedclothes  into 
hia  mouth,  and  dragging  his  box  from  under  the  bed,  had 
made  off  with  it.  She  ran  to  the  door  and  looked  out, 
but  there  was  no  one  to  be  seen.  It  was  dark,  and 
snowing  a  little,  so  no  traces  of  footsteps  were  to  be  per- 
ceived in  the  morning. 

"Father found  that  the  neighbors  were  dropping  in  to 
bear  the  old  man  company,  so  he  drove  on  to  Sudbury,  and 
then  returned  home.  When  he  got  back,  he  said  Jacobs 
was  ^^nnging  about  tiie  stable  in  a  nervous  kind  of  a  way, 
and  said  he  wanted  to  speak  to  him.  Father  said,  very 
good,  but  to  put  the  horse  in  tii'st.  Jacobs  unhitched, 
and  fiither  sat  on  one  of  the  stable  benches  and  watched 


him  till   he  came  loum 


"S 


along 


with  a  straw  in  his 


THE    BOX    OF    MONEY. 


207 


mouth,  and  said  he'd  made  up  Lis  mind  to  go  West,  and 
he'd  like  to  set  otf  at  once. 

"  Father  said  again,  very  good,  but  first  he  had  a  little 
account  to  settle  with  him,  and  he  took  out  of  his  pocket  a 
paj)er,  where  he  had  jolted  down  a^  far  sis  he  couKl,  every 
(juart  of  oats,  and  every  bag  of  grain,  and  every  quarter 
of  a  dollar  of  market  money  that  Jacobs  had  defrauded 
him  of.  Father  said  the  fellow  turned  all  the  colors  of 
the  rainbow,  for  he  thought  he  had  covered  up  his  tracks 
so  cleverly  that  he  would  never  be  found  out.  T lien  fa- 
ther said,  '  Sit  down,  Jacobs,  for  I  have  got  to  have  a  long 
talk  with  you.'  lie  had  him  there  about  an  hour,  and 
when  he  finished,  the  fellow  w:ia  completely  broken  down. 
Father  told  him  that  tliere  were  just  two  courses  in  life  for 
a  young  man  to  take,  and  he  bad  gotten  on  the  wrong  one. 
Hewasayoung,  smart  fellow,  and  if  he  turned  riglit  around 
now,  there  was  a  chance  for  him.  If  he  didn't,  there  was 
nothing  but  the  State's  prison  ahead  of  hinj.  ft^r  he  needn't 
think  he  was  going  to  gull  ami  cheat  all  the  world,  and 
never  be  found  out.  Father  said  he'd  give  him  all  the 
help  in  his  power,  if  he  had  his  word  that  he'd  try  to  bo 
an  honest  •.nan.  Then  he  tore  up  the  paper,  and  said 
there  was  an  end  of  his  indebtedness  to  him. 

"Jacobs  is  only  a  young  fellow,  twenty-three  or  there- 
about, and  father  says  he  sobbed  like  a  baby.  Then, 
without  looking  at  him,  father  gave  an  account  of  hi.s 
afternoon's  drive,  just  as  if  he  was  talking  to  himself. 
lie  said  that  Pacer  never  to  his  knowled_'e  had  been  on 
that  road  before,  an<l  yet  he  seemed  ptrlectly  familiar 
with  it,  ami  that  he  ."^topped  and  turned  all  ready  to  leave 
again  quickly,  instead  of  going  up  to  the  door,  and  how 
he  looked  over  his  shoulder  and  started  ou  a  run  down 
the  lane,  the  minute  father's  foot  was  in  the  cutter  again. 


i: 


208 


BEAUTIFUL   JOE. 


•    I 


In  the  course  of  his  remarks,  fatlier  mentioned  the  fact 
that  on  Monday,  the  evening  that  the  robbery  was  com- 
mitted, Jacobs  liad  liorrowed  I'acer  to  go  to  the  Junction, 
but  had  come  in  with  the  iiorse  steaming,  and  looking  a." 
if  he  had  been  driven  a  much  longer  di»>tancc  than  that. 
Father  said  that  when  he  got  done,  Jacobs  liad  sunk  down 
all  in  a  heap  on  the  stable  floor,  with  his  hands  over  his 
lace.  Father  left  him  to  have  it  out  with  himself,  and 
went  to  the  house. 

"  The  next  morning,  Jacobs  looked  just  the  same  as 
usual,  and  went  about  with  the  other  men  doing  his  work, 
but  saying  nothing  about  going  West.  Late  in  the  after- 
noon, a  fa,rnier  going  by  hailed  father,  and  asked  if  he'd 
heard  the  news.  Old  Miser  Jerrold's  box  had  been  left 
on  his  door-step  some  time  through  the  night,  ami  he'd 
found  it  in  the  morning.  The  money  was  all  there,  but 
the  old  fellow  was  so  cute  that  he  wouldn't  tell  any  one 
how  much  it  was.  The  neighbors  had  persuaded  him  to 
bank  it,  and  he  was  coming  to  town  the  next  morning  with 
it,  and  tliat  night  some  of  them  were  going  to  help  him 
mount  guard  over  it.  Father  told  the  men  at  milking 
time,  and  he  said  Jacobs  looked  as  unconscious  as  possi- 
ble. However,  from  tiiat  day  there  was  a  change  iu  him. 
He  never  told  father  in  so  many  words  that  he'd  resolved 
to  be  an  honest  man,  but  his  actions  spoke  for  him.  He  had 
been  a  kind  of  sullen,  unwilling  fellow,  but  now  he  turned 
handy  and  obliging,  and  it  was  a  real  trial  to  father  to 
part  with  liiui." 

Miss  Laura  was  intensely  interested  in  this  story. 
"  Where  is  he  now,  Cousin  Harry  ?  "  she  asked,  eagerly. 
"What  became  of  him?" 

Mr.  Harry  laughed  in  such  annisement  that  I  stared  up 
at  him,  a:id  even  Fleetwood  turned  his  head  around  to  see 


THE   BOX    OF   MONEY. 


209 


what  the  joke  was.  We  were  ;?oin'^  very  slowly  up  H 
long,  steep  liill,  and  iii  the  clear,  t^till  air,  we  could  iieai 
every  word  spoken  in  tlie  Imjiiry. 

"The  last  part  of  tiit-  story  is  the  hest,  to  my  mind," 
said  Mr  Harry,  "an<i  as  rttnuuitic  as  even  a  girl  eoidd  de- 
sire. The  artair  of  the  stolen  l).)X  w:l^  much  talked  ahout 
along  .Siidlmrv  way,  and  Mi.-s  Jerrold  gotto  Itceonsidered 
quite  a  desirahlc  young  person  among  s<ime  of  the  youth 
uear  there,  though  she  is  a  frowsy-headed  creature,  and 
not  as  neat  in  her  personal  attire  as  a  young  girl  should 
be.  Among  her  suitors  w:is  .J  acolw.  He  cutout  a  black- 
smith, and  a  painter,  and  several  young  farmers,  and 
father  said  he  never  in  his  life  had  such  a  time  to  keep  a 
straight  face,  as  wlien  Jacobs  came  to  him  this  spring,  and 
said  he  was  going  to  marry  old  Miser  Jerrold's  daughter. 
He  wanted  to  quit  father's  emphiy,  and  he  thanked  him 
in  a  real  manly  way  for  the  manner  in  wiiich  he  had  al- 
ways treated  him.  Well,  Jacobs  h.-ft,  and  mother  says  that 
father  would  sit  and  speculate  ahout  him,  as  to  wliether 
he  had  fallen  in  love  with  KU/.ii  JerroM,  or  whether 
he  was  determined  to  regain  po.-^session  of  tiie  box.  and 
was  going  to  do  it  honestly,  or  whether  ho  was  sorry  for 
having  frightened  the  old  man  into  a  greater  degree  of 
imbecility,  and  was  marrying  the  girl  so  that  he  could 
take  care  of  him,  or  whethe»*  it  w;is  something  else,  and 
soon,  and  so  on.  He  had  a  do/en  theories, and  then  mo- 
ther says  he  would  buret  out  lau.rhing,  and  say  it  was  one 
of  the  cutest  tricks  that  he  iv.id  (  ver  heiird  of. 

"  In  the  end,  .Iacoi)s  got  marrit-d,  and  fatiier  and 
mother  went  to  to  the  weddinu'.  Fiuiier  gave  the  bride- 
groom a  yoke  of  oxen,  and  motlier  gave  the  bride  a  lot 
of  household  linen,  and  1  believe  they're  as  happy  an  the 
day  is  long.     Jacobs  makes  his  wife  comb  her  hair,  and 


210 


BKAUTIFUL   JOF. 


M! 


he  waits  on  the  old  man  as  if  he  was  Ins  mn,  and  he  is 
improving  thu  farm  tliat  was  going  to  rack  and  ruiu,  and 
I  hear  he  is  gonig  to  build  a  new  house." 

"Hurry,"  exclaimed  Miss  Laura,  "  can't  you  take  me 
to  see  them  " 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  mother  often  drives  over  to  take  them 
little  things,  and  we'll  go  too,  sometime.  I'd  like  to  see 
Jacobs  mvself,  now  that  he  is  a  decent  fellow.  Strange 
to  say,  though  he  hadn't  the  best  of  character,  no  one  has 
ever  suspected  him  ot  the  robbery,  and  he's  been  cun- 
ning enoiigh  never  to  say  a  word  about  it.  Father  says 
Jacol)3  is  like  all  the  rest  of  us.  There's  a  mixture  of 
good  and  evil  in  him,  and  sometimes  one  predominates 
and  sometimes  the  other.  But  we  must  get  on  and  not 
talk  here  all  day.     Get  up,  Flcetfoot."' 

"Where  did  you  say  we  were  going?"  asked  Miss 
Laura,  as  we  crossed  the  bridge  over  the  river. 

"  A  little  way  back  here  in  the  woods,"  he  replied 
"There's   an   Englishman   on  a  small  clearing  that  he 
calls  Penhollow.     Father  loaned  him  some  money  three 
years  ago,  and  he  won't  pay  either  interest  or  principal." 

"I  think  I've  heard  of  hin.."  said  Miss  Laura, 
"  Isn't  he  the  man  whom  the  bovs  call  Lord  Chester- 
field?" 

"The  same  one.     He's  a  queer  specimen  of  a  man. 
Father  has  always  stood  up  for  him.     He  has  a  great 
liking  for  the  English.     He  says  we  ought  to  be  Jis  ready 
to  lie'p  an  Englishman  as  an   American,  for  we  spring 
from  common  stock." 

"Oh,  not  Englishmen  only,"  said  Miss  Laura,  warmly; 
"  Chinamen,  and  Negroes,  and  everybody.  There  ought 
to  be  a  brotherhood  of  nations,  Harry." 

"  Yes,  Miss  Enthusiasm,  I  suppose  there  ought  to  be," 


THE   BOX    OP   MONEY. 


211 


spring 


and  looking  up,  I  could  sec  that  Mr.  Harry  was  gazing 
admiringly  into  his  cou^iiu's  face. 

"  Please  tell  mo  some  more  about  the  Englishman," 
said  Miss  Laura. 

"There  isn't  much  to  tell.  lie  lives  alone,  only  cora« 
ing  occasionally  to  the  village  for  supplies,  and  though  ho 
is  poorer  than  poverty,  he  despises  every  soul  within  a 
ten-mile  radius  of  him,  and  Icoks  upon  us  as  no  better 
than  an  order  of  thrifty,  well-trained  lower  animals." 

"  Why  is  tliat?"  asked  Miss  Laura,  in  surprise. 

"He  is  a  gentleman,  Laura,  and  we  are  only  common 
people.  My  father  can't  hand  a  lady  in  and  out  of  a  car- 
riage as  Lord  Chesterfield  can,  nor  can  he  make  so  grand 
a  bow,  nor  does  he  put  on  evening  dress  tor  a  late  dinner, 
and  we  never  go  to  the  opera  nor  to  the  theatre,  and  know 
nothing  of  polite  society,  nor  can  we  tell  exactly  whom 
our  great-great-grandfather  sprang  from.  I  tell  you, 
there  is  a  gulf  between  us  and  that  Englislmian,  wider 
than  the  one  young  Curtius  leaped  into." 

Miss  Laura  was  laughing  merrily.  "  How  funny  that 
sounds,  Harry.  So  he  despises  you,"  and  she  glanced  at 
her  good-looking  cousin,  and  his  handsome  buggy  and 
well-kept  horse,  and  then  burst  into  another  merry  peal  of 
laughter. 

Mr.  Harrv  laughed  too.  "  It  does  seem  absurd.  Some- 
times  when  I  pass  him  jogging  along  to  town  in  his 
rickety  old  cart,  and  look  at  his  pale,  cruel  face,  and 
know  that  he  is  a  broken-down  gambler  and  man  of  the 
world,  and  yet  considers  himself  infinitely  superior  to  me 
— a  young  man  in  the  prime  of  life,  with  a  good  constitu- 
tion and  happy  prospects,  it  makes  me  turn  away  to  hide 
a  smile." 

By  this  time  ^o  had  ieH  the  river  and  the  meadows  far 


i 


212 


BEAUTIFUL  JOK. 


behind  us,  and  were  passinj?  through  a  thick  wood.  The 
road  wjia  narmw  and  very  brokon,  and  Fleotfuot  w!w 
obliged  to  pick  his  way  carefully.  "  NVhy  docs  the  Eiig- 
lisbnian  live  in  this  out-of-the-way  place,  il'  he  is  so  fond 
of  city  hfu?"  said  Miss  Laura. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Harry.  "Father  is  afraid 
that  he  has  committed  some  misdeed,  and  is  in  hiding ; 
but  we  say  nothing  about  it.  We  have  not  seen  him  for 
some  weeks,  and  to  tell  the  truth,  this  trip  is  as  much  to 
see  what  has  become  of  him,  as  to  make  a  demand  ujk)!! 
him  for  the  money.  As  he  lives  alone,  he  might  lie  there 
ill,  and  no  one  would  know  anything  about  it.  Tiie  last 
time  that  we  knew  of  his  coming  to  the  village  was  to 
draw  qui^e  a  sum  of  money  from  the  bank,  it  annoyed 
father,  for  he  said  he  might  take  some  of  it  to  pay  his 
debts.  I  think  his  relativea  in  England  supply  him  with 
funds.  Here  we  are  at  the  entrance  to  the  mansion  of 
Penhollow,  I  must  get  out  and  open  tiie  gate  that  will 
admit  us  to  the  winding  avenue.' 

We  had  arrived  in  front  of  some  bars  which  were  laid 
across  an  opening  in  the  snale  fence  that  ran  along  one 
side  of  the  road.  I  sat  down  and  looked  about.  It  was 
a  strange,  lonely  place.  The  trees  ahuost  met  overhead, 
and  it  was  very  dim  and  quiet.  The  sun  could  only  send 
little  straggling  beams  througli  the  branches.  There  v,-a3 
a  nuiddy  pool  of  water  before  the  bars  that  Mr.  Harry 
was  letting  down,  and  he  got  his  feet  wet  in  it.  "Con- 
found that  Englishman,"  he  said,  backing  out  of  the 
water,  and  wiping  his  boots  on  the  gra.ss.  "  He  hasn't 
even  gumption  enough  to  throw  down  a  load  of  stone 
there.  Drive  in  Laura  and  I'll  put  up  the  bars."  Fleet- 
foot  took  us  tlirough  the  opening,  and  then  Mr.  Harry 
jumped  into  the  buggy  and  took  up  the  reins  again. 


THE    HOX   OF   MONEY. 


213 


will 

re  laid 
ng  one 
It  was 
erhcad, 
ly  send 
?rc  was 
Harry 
"  Con- 
of  the 
hasn't 
stone 
Fleet- 
Harry 


We  had  to  j^o  very  slowly  »ip  a  narrow,  roiij^h  road. 
Tlie  hushes  scratchod  and  .scrapi-d  at,'aiiu»t  the  l)ujriry,  and 
Mr.  Harry  hutkcd  very  much  annoyed. 

"No  man  livcth  to  liimsolf,"  said  Mis8  Laura,  soflly. 
"  Thi.s  nian'.s  can  lt',ssnes«  is  j?iviiig  you  trouhlr  Why 
doesn't  he  cut  thci^e  hrauchos  tliat  ovcrhan;,'  the  road?" 

"He  can't  do  it  hecause  his  al)ominal)le  laziin'ss  wont 
let  him,"  said  Mr.  Harry.  "  I'd  lii<e  to  he  hoiiind  him 
for  a  week,  and  I'd  make  him  .step  a  little  hiater.  We 
have  arrived  at  lsi.''t,  thank  goodness." 

There  was  a  binall  i;ra.<3  clearuij.;  in  the  mid.st  of  the 
woods.  Chips  and  hits  of  wood  wore  littered  about,  and 
across  the  clearing  was  a  roughly  huilt  house  of  unpainted 
boards.  The  front  door  was  propped  open  by  a  stick. 
Some  of  the  panes  of  ghiss  in  the  windows  wore  broken, 
and  the  whole  house  had  a  melancholy  dilapidated  look. 
I  thought  that  I  had  never  seen  such  a  sad-looking  place. 

"  It  seems  as  if  there  was  no  one  about,"  said  Mr. 
Harry,  with  a  puzzled  face.  "  Barron  must  be  away. 
Will  you  hold  Fleetfoot,  Laura,  while  I  go  and  see?" 

He  drew  the  buggy  up  near  a  small  log  buihling  that 
had  evidently  been  used  f  )r  a  stable,  and  i  lay  down 
beside  it  and  watched  Miss  Laura. 


I 


CHAl'TKR  XXVII. 


A  NIXJLIX'TED   HTAHLK. 


HAD  not  been  on  the  ground  more  than  a  few 
aoconds,  before  I  turned  my  eyes  from  Miss 
Laura  to  tlie  h)g  but.  It  was  deathly  quiet, 
there  was  not  a  sound  conting  from  it,  but  the  air  was 
full  of  queer  smells,  and  I  was  so  uneasy  that  I  could  not 
lie  still.  There  was  something  the  matter  with  Fleetfoot 
too.  He  was  pawing  the  ground,  and  whinnying,  and 
looking,  not  after  Mr.  Harry,  but  toward  tlie  leg  building. 

"Joe,"  said  Miss  Laura,  "what  is  the  matte  '"ith  you 
and  Fleetfoot?  Why  don't  you  stand  still?  Is  there 
any  stranger  about?  "ami  she  peered  out  of  the  buggy. 

I  knew  there  was  something  wrong  somewhere,  but  I 
didn't  know  what  it  was ;  so  I  stretched  myaclf  up  on  the 
step  of  the  buggy,  and  licked  her  hand,  and  barking,  to 
ask  her  to  excuse  me,  I  ran  off  to  the  other  side  of  the 
log  hut.  There  was  a  door  there,  but  it  was  closed,  and 
propped  firmly  up  by  a  plank  tliat  I  could  not  move, 
scratch  as  hard  as  I  liked.  I  was  determined  to  get  in, 
so  I  jumped  against  the  door,  and  tore  and. bit  at  the 
plank,  till  Miss  I^aura  came  to  helf>  nie. 

"  You  won't  find  anything  but  rats  in  that  ramshackle 

old  place,  Beautiful  Joe,"  she  said,  as  she  pulled  the 

plank  away ;  "  and  as  you  don't  hurt  them,  I  don't  see 

what  you  want  to  get  in  for.    However,  you  are  a  sensi- 

214 


A    NF,(iLEtTKI)  STABI-E. 


216 


bio  dii^',  and  usually  liavc  a  rfiiM)U  for  having  your  own 
way,  8o  i  am  g(jiug  to  lot  you  have  it." 

The  plank  t'wll  down  lus  hIio  spoke,  and  slif  pulled  oj>en 
the  roui,'h  d mr  a:id  looked  in.  Tlicie  \v:w  no  window 
inside,  otdy  tin'  li.'lit  that  stnanied  throu;^l»  the  door,  ><o 
tliat  for  an  itistant  siie  oould  see  iiothint;.  "Id  any  one 
here?'"  Hhe  a.<ked,  in  her  clear,  swtet  voieo.  There  W!»a 
no  answer,  exeept  a  low  n)oanin'_' sound,  "Why,  son»e 
I)oor  errnture  i.s  in  trouble,  Joe,"'  .s.iid  Mii-i  Laara,  eheer- 
fully.     "  Let  U8  see  what  it  is,"  and  she  stepped  iiwido. 

I  shall  never  foriret  seeing  my  dear  Mis.s  Laura  going 
into  that  wet  and  filthy  log  house,  hohling  up  her  white 
dress  in  her  hands,  her  fuee  a  [)ietun;  of  pain  and  horror. 
There  were  two  rough  stalls  in  it,  and  in  the  (irst  uue  was 
tiefl  u  cow,  with  a  calf  lying  hesidc  her.  I  ecmld  never 
have  i)elieved,  it'  I  had  not  seen  it  with  my  own  eyes,  that 
an  animal  couhl  get  so  thin  as  that  cow  w;uj.  Her  hack- 
bone  rose  up  high  and  sharp,  lier  liip  hones  .stuck  away 
out,  and  all  her  body  seemed  shrunken  in.  There  were 
sores  on  her  sides,  and  the  smell  from  her  stall  was  terri- 
ble. Miss  Laura  gave  one  cry  of  pity,  then  with  a  very 
pale  face  she  droj)pcd  lier  dress,  ami  seizing  a  litile  pen- 
knife from  iier  pocket,  she  hacked  at  the  rope  that  lietl 
the  cow  to  the  manu'er,  and  cut  it  .«o  tiiat  the  row  could 
lie  down.  The  first  thing  the  poor  cow  did  was  to  lick 
her  calf,  but  it  wa.s  ijuite  dead.  I  used  to  think  Jenkins's 
cows  were  thin  enough,  hat  he  never  had  one  that  looked 
like  this.  Her  head  was  like  the  head  of  a  skeleton, 
and  her  eyes  had  such  a  famished  look,  that  I  turned 
away,  sick  at  heart,  to  think  tliat  she  had  suifered  so. 

AVhen  the  cow  lay  down,  the  moaning  ni.ise  stopped, 
for  she  had  been  makii.g  it.  Miss  Laura  ran  oiitdo(ji-s, 
snatched  a  handful  of  grivss  and  took  it  in  to  her.     The 


216 


BEAUTIFUL   JOE. 


I 


COW  ate  it  gratefully,  but  slowly,  for  her  strcn^jth  seemed 
all  gone 

Miss  Laura  then  went  into  the  other  stall  to  see  if 
there  was  rnv  creature  there.  There  luul  been  a  horse. 
There  was  now  a  lean,  gaunt-looking  animal  lying  on  the 
ground,  that  see-ned  as  if  he  was  dead.  Tliere  Wiis  a 
heavy  rope  knotted  round  his  neck,  and  fastened  to  his 
empty  rack.  Miss  Laura  stepjicd  carefully  between  hia 
feet,  cut  the  rope,  and  going  outside  the  stall  spoke  kindly 
to  him.  He  moved  his  cars  sliirhtly,  raised  his  head,  tried 
to  get  up,  fell  back  again,  tried  a^ain,  and  succeeded  in 
staggering  outdoors  after  Miss  Laura,  wiio  kept  encour- 
a^ring  liim,  and  then  he  foil  down  on  tlie  grass. 

Fleetfoot  stared  ;it  the  miserable-looking  creature  as  if 
he  did  not  know  what  it  was.  The  horse  had  no  sores  on 
his  body  as  the  cow  had,  nor  was  he  quite  so  lean  ;  but  he 
wsis  the  weakest,  most  distressed-looking  animal  that  I  ever 
saw.  Tlie  flies  settled  on  him,  and  Miss  Laura  had  to 
keep  driving  them  away.  He  was  a  white  horse,  with 
some  kind  of  pale  colored  eyes,  and  whcnevt^r  he  turinnl 
them  on  Miss  Laura,  she  would  look  away.  She  di('.  not 
cry,  as  she  often  did  over  sick  and  suffering  animals. 
This  seemed  too  bad  for  tears.  She  just  hm-ered  over  that 
poor  horse  with  her  face  as  white  as  her  dress,  and  an  ex- 
pression of  fright  in  her  eyes.  Oh,  how  dirty  he  was!  I 
wouM  never  have  imagined  that  a  horse  could  get  in  such 
a  condition. 

All  this  had  only  taken  a  few  minutes,  and  just  after 
she  got  the  horse  outy  Mr,  ILirry  appeared  lie  came  out 
of  the  house  with  a  slow  step,  that  quickened  to  a  run 
when  he  saw  Miss  Laura.  "  Laura  !  "  he  exclaimed,  "  what 
are  you  doing?"  Then  he  stopped  and  looked  at  the 
the  horse,   not   in    amazement,    but    very    sorrowfully 


i!i! 


A    NEGLECTED  STABLE. 


217 


"Barron  is  Kone,"  he  said,  and  cniinpliiig  up  a  piece  of 
paper,  he  put  it  in  his  pocket.  "  What  is  to  bo  done  for 
these  animals?     There  is  a  cow,  isn't  there?  " 

He  stepped  to  the  door  of  the  log  hut,  glanced  in,  and 
said,  quickly  :     "  Do  you  feel  able  to  drive  home?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Laura. 

"Sure?"  and  he  eved  her  anxiously. 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  returned,  "  what  shall  I  get  ?" 

"Just  tell  father  that  Barron  has  run  away  and  left 
a  starving  pig.  cow,  and  hoi-se.  There's  not  a  thing  to 
eat  here.  He'll  know  what  to  do.  I'll  drive  you  to 
the  road." 

Miss  Laura  got  into  the  buggy  and  Mr.  Harry  jumped 
in  after  her.  He  drove  her  to  the  road  and  put  down  the 
bars,  then  he  said  :  "  Go  straight  on.  You'll  soon  be  on 
the  open  road,  and  there's  nothing  to  harm  you.  Joe  will 
look  after  you.  Meanwhile  I'll  go  back  to  the  house  and 
heat  some  water." 

Miss  Laura  let  Fleetfoot  go  as  fiist  as  ho  liked  on  tho 
way  home,  and  it  only  seemed  a  few  iniimies  before 
we  drove  into  the  yard.  Adc'Ie  came  out  tv  meet  iii. 
"Where's  uncle?"  asked  ^liss  Laura. 

"Gone  to  de  big  meadijw,"  said  Adele. 

"And  auntie?" 

"She  had  de  colds  and  chills,  and  entered  into  do  bed 
to  keep  warm.  She  lose  herself  in  sleep  now.  You 
not  go  near  her." 

"Are  there  none  of  the  men  about?"  jwked  Mitw 
Laura. 

"  No,  mademoiselle.    Dey  all  occupied  way  off." 

"Then  you  help  me,  Adele,  like  a  good  girl,''  said 
Miss  Laura,  hurrying  into  the  house.  "  We've  found  a 
sick  horse  and  cow.     What  shall  I  take  them?" 


218 


BEAUTIFUL   JOE. 


"Nearly  a!l  aniiimls  like  de  bran  mash,"  said  Adi^lo. 

"  Good,"  criwi  Jlit-s  Laura.  "  That  is  tlie  very  thing. 
Put  in  the  things  to  make  it,  will  you  pleaise,  and  I 
would  like  some  vegetables  for  the  cow.  CarrotH, 
turnips,  anything  you  have,  take  some  of  those  you 
have  prepared  for  dinner  to-morrow,  and  pleu«e  run  up 
to  the  barn  Ad^le,  and  get  some  hay,  and  corn,  and 
oats,  not  much,  for  we'll  be  going  back  again ;  but 
hurry,  for  the  poor  things  are  starving,  and  have  you 
any  milk  for  the  pig?  Put  it  in  one  of  those  tin  kettles 
witii  covers." 

For  a  few  minutes,  ^liss  Laura  and  Adele  (lew  about 
the  kitchen,  then  we  set  oif  again.  Miss  Laura  took  me 
in  the  buggy,  for  I  was  out  of  breath  and  whee/ing 
greatly,  i  had  to  sit  on  the  seat  beside  her,  for  the  bot- 
tom of  the  luiggy  and  the  back  were  full  of  eatablen  for 
the  poor  sick  animals.  Just  as  we  drove  into  the  rood, 
we  met  Mr.  AVood.  "Are  you  running  away  with  tho 
farm?  "'  lie  said  witli  a  h'.ugh,  pointing  to  the  carrot  tops 
that  were  gayly  waving  over  the  dashboard. 

Miss  ]^aiira  said  a  few  words  to  him,  and  with  a  very 
grave  face  he  got  in  beside  her.  In  a  short  time,  wo 
were  back  on  the  lonely  road.  A[r.  Harry  was  waiting 
at  the  gate  for  us,  and  when  he  saw  Miss  Laura,  he  said, 
''  Why  did  you  cotne  back  again?  You'll  be  tired  out. 
This  isn't  a  jjlace  for  a  sensitive  girl  like  you." 

"  I  thought  I  might  be  of  some  use,"  said  she,  gently, 

"So  you  can,"  said  Mr.  Wood.  "You  go  into  tho 
house  and  sit  down,  and  Harry  and  I  will  come  to  you 
when  we  want  cheering  up.  What  have  vou  been  doing, 
Harry?" 

"I've  watered  them  a  little,  and  got  a  good  lire  going.  I 
scarcely  think  the  cow  will  pull  tlu'ougli.     I  think  we'll 


A   NEOI.ECTED  STABLE. 


219 


save  the  horse.  I  tried  to  get  the  cow  out-doors,  but  she 
can't  move." 

"  Let  her  alone,"  said  Mr.  WcAid.  "  Give  her  some 
food  and  her  stren^'th  will  come  to  her.  What  have  you 
got  liere?"  and  he  began  to  take  the  things  out  of  the 
buggy.  "  Biess  the  child,  she's  thought  of  everything, 
even  the  salt.  Bring  those  things  into  the  house,  Harry, 
and  we'll  make  a  bran  mash." 

For  more  tlian  an  hour  they  were  fussing  over  the  ani- 
mals. Then  they  came  in  and  sat  down.  Tlie  inside  of 
the  Englishman's  house  was  Jis  untidy  as  the  outside. 
There  was  no  upstairs  to  it — only  one  large  room  with  a 
dirty  curtain  stretched  across  it.  On  one  side  wus  a  low 
bed  with  a  heap  of  clothes  on  it,  a  chair  and  a  washstand. 
On  the  other  was  a  stove,  a  tal)le,  a  shaky  necking-chair 
that  Miss  Laura  was  sitting  in,  a  few  hanging  shelves 
with  some  dishes  and  books  ou  them,  and  two  or  three 
small  boxes  that  had  evidently  been  used  for  seats. 

Ou  the  walls  were  tacked  some  pictures  of  grand 
houses  and  ladies  and  gentlemen  in  fine  clothes,  and  ISIisa 
Laura  said  that  some  of  them  were  noble  people.  "  Well, 
I'm  glad  this  particular  nobleman  has  left  us,"  said  Mr. 
Wood,  seating  himself  on  one  of  the  boxes,  "  if  nobleman 
he  is.  I  should  call  him  in  plain  English,  a  scoundrel. 
Did  Harry  show  you  his  note?" 

"  No,  uncle,"  said  ML-js  Laura. 

"  Read  it  aloud,"  said  Mr.  Wood.     "  I'd  like  to  hear  it 


again. 


Miss  Laura  read : 

J.  Wood,  Esq.  Dear  Sir:— It  is  a  matter  of  great 
regret  to  me  tliat  I  am  suddenly  called  away  from  my 
place  at  Penhollow,  and  will,  therefore,  not  be  able  to  do 
myself  the  pleasure  of  calling  on  you  and  settling  my  lit- 


220 


nKAUTIFITL   JOE. 


tie  account.  I  sincerely  hope  that  the  possession  of  ray 
live  stock,  which  I  make  entirely  over  to  you,  will  more 
than  reimburse  you  for  any  triiling  expense  which  you 
may  have  incurred  on  niy  account.  It' it  is  any  gratitica- 
tion  to  you  to  know  that  you  have  rendered  a  slight 
jissistanee  to  the  son  of  one  of  England's  noblest  noble- 
men, you  have  it.  Witi)  expressions  of  the  deepest 
respect,  and  hoping  that  my  stock  may  be  in  good  condi- 
tion when  you  take  i)osses.sion, 

I  am,  dear  sir,  ever  devotedly  yours, 

Howard  Aloernon  Leduc  Barron. 

Miss  Laura  dropped  the  paper.  "  Uncle,  did  he  leave 
those  animals  to  starve?" 

"  Didn't  you  notice,"  said  Mr.  Wood,  grimly,  "  that 
there  wasn't  a  wisp  of  hay  inside  that  shanty,  and  that 
where  the  poor  beasts  were  tied  up  the  wood  was  gnawed 
and  bitten  by  them  in  their  torture  for  food.  Wouldn't 
he  have  sent  nie  that  note,  instead  of  leaving  it  here  on 
the  table,  if  he'd  wanted  me  to  know'?  Tiie  note  isn't 
dated,  but  I  judge  he's  been  gone  five  or  six  days.  He 
has  had  a  spite  against  me  ever  since  I  lent  him  that  hun- 
dred dollars.  I  don't  know  why,  for  I've  stood  up  for 
him  when  others  would  have  run  him  out  of  the  place. 
He  intended  me  to  come  here  and  find  every  animal 
lying  dead.  He  even  had  a  rope  around  the  pig's  neck. 
Harry,  my  boy,  let  us  go  and  look  after  tliem  again.  I 
love  a  (Limb  brute  too  well  to  let  it  suffer,  but  in  this  case 
I'd  give  two  hundred  dollars  more  if  I  could  make  them 
live  and  have  Barron  know  it." 

They  left  the  room,  and  Miss  T^aura  sat  turning  the 
sheet  of  paper  over  and  over,  with  a  kind  of  horror  in 
her  face.  It  was  a  very  dirty  piece  of  paper,  but  by-and- 
by  she  made  a  discovery.  She  took  it  in  her  hand  and 
went  out-doors.     I  am  sure  that  the  poor  horse  lying  on 


A    NEGLECTED   STABLE. 


221 


the  ffrofs-s  know  hor.  He  lifted  his  head,  and  what  a  dif- 
ferent expression  he  had  now  tl)  t  his  hunger  had  been 
partly  satisfied.  Miss  Laura  Ptroked  and  patted  him, 
then  she  called  to  her  cousin,  "  llairv,  will  you  look  at 
this  ? " 

He  took  the  paper  from  her,  a»id  said:  "That  is  a 
crest  shining  through  the  dillerent  strata  of  dust  and 
grime,  probably  th.at  of  his  own  family.  We'll  have 
it  cleaned,  and  it  will  enable  us  to  track  the  villain.  You 
want  him  punished,  don't  you  ?  "  he  said,  with  a  little,  sly 
laugh  at  Miss  Laura. 

She  made  a  gesture  in  the  direction  of  the  suticring 
horse,  and  said,  frankly,  "  Yes,  I  do." 

"  Well,  my  dear  girl,"  he  said,  "Father and  I  are  with 
you.  If  we  can  hunt  IJarrou  down,  we'll  do  it."  Tnen 
he  muttered  to  himself  as  she  turned  away,  "She  is  a 
real  Purican,  gentle,  and  sweet,  and  good,  and  yet  severe. 
Rewards  for  the  virtuous,  punishments  for  the  vicious," 
and  he  repeated  some  poetry  : 

"She  wus  8o  charitable  niid  so  piteous, 
She  would  weep  if  that  she  saw  a  mouse 
Caught  in  a  trap,  if  it  were  dead  or  bled." 

#  Miss  Laura  saw  that  Mr.  Wood  and  Mr.  Harry  were 
doing  all  that  could  be  done  for  the  cow  and  horse,  so  she 
wandered  down  to  a  hollow  at  the  back  of  the  house, 
where  the  Englishman  had  kept  his  pijj.  Just  now,  he 
looked  more  like  a  greyhound  than  a  pig.  His  logs  were 
so  long,  his  nose  so  sharp,  and  hunger,  instead  of  making 
him  stupid  like  tne  horse  aiul  cow,  had  made  him  more 
lively.  I  think  he  had  probably  not  sutfered  so  much  as 
they  had,  or  perhaps  he  had  had  a  greater  sttjre  of  fat  to 
nourish  him.  Mr.  Harry  said  that  if  he  had  been  a  girl, 
be  would  have  laughed  and  cried  at  the  same  time  when 


222 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


ill 


1 1 


he  discorerfsl  that  pig.  lie  must  have  been  aslcoj)  or  ex- 
hausted when  we  arrived,  for  there  was  not  a  sound  out 
of  him,  but  shortly  afterward  he  had  sit  tip  a  yelling' that 
attracted  Mr.  Harry's  attention,  and  made  him  run  down 
to  him.  Mr.  Harry  said  he  Wiis  ra:,'iug  around  nis  pen, 
digi^ing  the  j;round  wiili  his  snout,  falliiiLj  down  and  get- 
tintr  up  airain,  and  by  a  niirucle,  escaping  death  by  chok- 
ing from  tlie  rope  that  was  tied  around  his  neck. 

Now  tliat  iiis  hunger  hail  bee?\  satisfied,  he  was  gazing 
contentedly  at  his  little  trough  that  was  i.aif-full  of  good, 
sweet  milk.  Mr.  Harry  said  that  a  starvin^r  animal,  like 
a  starving  pereon,  should  only  be  fed  a  little  at  a  time  ; 
but  the  Englishman's  animals  had  always  been  fed 
poorly,  and  their  stomachs  had  contracted  so  that  they 
could  n(>t  eat  much  at  one  time. 

Miss  Laura  got  a  stick  and  scratched  poor  piggy's  back 
a  little,  and  then  she  went  back  to  the  house.  In  a  short 
time  we  went  home  with  Mr.  Wood.  Mr.  Harry  was  go- 
ing to  stay  all  night  with  the  sick  animals,  and  his  mother 
would  send  him  tilings  to  make  him  comfortable.  She 
Avas  better  by  the  time  we  got  home,  and  was  horrified  to 
hear  tiie  tale  of  Mr.  Barron's  neglect.  Later  in  the  even- 
ing, she  sent  one  of  the  men  over  with  a  whole  box  full  of  V 
things  for  her  darling  boy,  and  a  nice,  hot  tea,  done  up 
for  him  in  a  covered  dish. 

When  the  man  came  home,  he  said  ti  at  Mr.  Harry 
would  not  sleep  in  the  Englishman's  dirty  house,  but  had 
slung  a  hammock  out  under  the  trees.  However,  he 
would  not  be  able  to  sleep  nuich,  for  he  had  his  lantern 
by  his  side,  all  ready  to  jump  ;ip  and  attend  to  the  horse 
and  cow.  It  was  a  very  loti'>ly  place  for  him  out  there 
in  the  woods,  and  ids  mother  said  that  she  would  be  glad 
when  the  sick  animals  could  be  driven  to  their  own  farm. 


■^^••#  ^i^^^r^f  ?^-^ 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 


THE    END   OF   THE   ENOLISIIMAN. 


N  .1  few  days,  thanks  to  Mr.  irurrv's  constant 
care,  the  horse  anci  cow  were  able  to  walk.  It 
was  a  inouriifiil  procession  that  canio  into  the 
yard  at  Dingley  Farm.  The  hollow-eyed  honse,  and  lean 
cow,  smd  funny,  little,  thin  pig,  staggering  along  in  such 
a  shaky  fashion.  Their  hoofs  were  diseased,  and 
had  partly  rotted  away,  so  that  they  could  not  walk 
straight.  Though  it  w;i3  only  a  mile  or  two  from  Pen- 
hollow  to  Dingley  Farm,  they  were  tired  out,  and  dropped 
down  exhausted  on  their  comfortable  beds. 

Miss  Laura  was  so  delighted  to  tliink  that  they  had  all 
lived,  that  she  did  not  know  what  to  do.  Her  eyes  were 
bright  and  shining,  and  she  went  from  one  to  another  with 
such  a  happy  face.  The  queer  little  pig  that  Mr.  Harry 
had  christened  ''  Daddy  Lonsxlegs,"  hail  been  washed,  ami 
he  lay  on  his  lieap  of  straw  in  the  corner  of  his  neat  little 
pen,  and  surveyed  his  clean  trough  and  abundance  of 
food  with  tho  air  of  a  prince.  Why,  he  would  be  clean 
and  dry  here,  and  all  his  life  he  had  been  u.5ed  to  dirty, 
damp  Peuhollow,  with  tho  trees  hanging  over  hira,  and 
his  little  feet  in  a  mass  of  iilth  and  dead  leaves.  Happy 
little  pig!  His  ugly  eyes  seemed  to  blink  ami  srleam  with 
gratitude,  and  he  knew  Miss  Lauru  and  Mr.  Harry  as  well 
OS  I  did. 

228 


224 


BEAUTIFUL   JOE. 


•r 


His  tiny  tail  was  curled  so  tight  that  it  was  almost  in  a 
knot.  Mr.  Wooil  stiid  that  wiususi;,Mi  that  he  was  healthy 
and  happy,  and  that  wlien  poor  Daddy  wiis  at  PenhoUow, 
he  had  noticed  that  Ids  tail  liuni^  o-s  limp  and  loose  o^  the 
tailofurui.  He  came  and  leaned  over  the  pen  with 
Miss  Laura,  and  had  a  little  talk  witli  her  about  pigs, 
lie  said  they  were  by  no  means  the  stupid  anin)als  that 
some  people  considered  thorn.  He  had  had  pigs  tliat 
were  as  clever  as  dogs.  One  little  blaeiv  pig  that  he 
had  once  sold  to  a  man  awav  back  in  the  country,  had 
found  his  way  home,  through  the  woods,  across  tl-e  river, 
up  hill  and  down  dale,  and  he'd  been  taken  to  the  place 
with  a  bag  over  his  head.  Mr.  Wood  said  that  he  kept 
that  pig,  because  he  knew  so  much. 

He  said  that  the  most  knowing  pigs  he  ever  saw,  were 
Canadian  pigs.  One  tirne  he  was  liaving  a  trip  on  a 
sailing  vessel,  and  it  anchored  in  a  long,  narrow  harbor 
in  Canada,  where  the  tide  carue  in  witli  a  front  four  or 
five  feet  high  called  the  "  bore."  Tiiere  was  a  village  oyh 
posite  the  place  where  the  shij)  was  anchored,  and  every 
day  at  low  tide,  a  number  of  pigs  came  down  to  look  for 
shell-fish.  Sometimes  tiiey  went  out  for  half  a  mile  over  the 
mud  flats,  but  always  a  few  minutes  before  the  tide  came 
rushing  in,  tfiey  turned  and  hurried  to  the  shore.  Their 
instinct  warned  tlxem,  that  if  they  stayed  any  longer  they 
would  be  drowned. 

Mr.  Wood  had  a  number  of  pigs,  and  after  a  while 
Daddy  wa.s  put  in  with  them,  and  a  fine  time  he  had 
making  friends  with  the  other  little  grunters.  They  were 
often  let  out  in  the  pasture  or  orchard,  and  when  they 
were  there,  I  could  always  single  out  Daddy  from  among 
them,  because  he  wf_.  the  smartest.  Though  he  had  been 
brought  up  in  such  a  miserable  way,  he  soon  learned  to 


1 


THE   END   OF   THE   ENQLISUMAN. 


226 


Their 
they 


take  very  good  care  of  bim-sclf  at  Diu;.,li'y  Farm,  aud  it 
wiw  ainusiii^  to  see  liiiu  when  a  storm  wiu  coming  on, 
running  ui)out  in  a  .state  ot' great  excitement,  carrying  lit- 
'  Ic  bundles  of  straw  in  his  mouth  to  make  himself  a  '  ' 
lie  was  a  white  pig,  and  was  always  kept  very  cleai"  ^r. 
Wood  said  that  it  is  wrong  to  keep  pigs  dirty.  They  like 
to  be  clean  as  well  as  other  animals,  and  if  they  were 
kept  80,  human  beings  would  not  get  so  many  disea-sea 
from  eating  their  lk«ii. 

The  cow,  poor  unhappy  creature,  never  as  long  as  she 
lived  on  Diugley  Farm,  lost  a  strange,  melancholy  look 
from  her  eyes.  1  have  heard  it  said  that  animals  forget 
past  unhappiness,  and  perhaps  some  of  them  do.  I  know 
that  I  have  never  forgotten  ray  one  miserable  year  with 
Jenkins,  and  I  have  been  a  sober,  thoughtful  dog  in  con- 
sequence of  it,  and  not  playful  like  some  dogs  who  have 
never  known  what  it  is  to  be  really  unhappy. 

It  always  seemed  to  me  that  the  Englishman's  cow  was 
thinking  of  her  poor  dead  calf,  starved  to  death  by  her 
cruel  nuister.  She  got  well  herself,  and  came  and  went 
with  the  other  cows,  seemingly  a.s  happy  as  they,  but  often 
when  I  watched  her  standing  chewing  her  cud,  and  look- 
ing away  in  the  distance,  I  could  see  a  ditlerence  between 
her  face  aud  the  faces  of  the  cows  that  had  always  been 
happy  on  Dingley  Farm.  Even  tlie  farm  hands  called 
her  "  Old  "lelancholy,''  an<l  soon  she  got  to  be  known  by 
that  name,  or  Mel,  for  short.  Until  she  got  well,  she 
was  put  into  the  cow  stable,  where  Sir.  Wood's  cows  all 
stood  at  night  upon  raised  platforms  of  earth  covered  over 
with  straw  litter,  and  she  was  tied  with  a  Dutch  halter, 
so  that  she  could  lie  down  and  go  to  sleep  when  she 
wanted  to.  When  she  got  well,  she  was  put  out  to  pas- 
ture with  the  other  cows. 


226 


BEAUTIFUL   JOE. 


The  horse  tliey  nariKvl  "Scrul),"  because  he  could  never 
be,  under  any  circuniritauccH,  anythin;^  but  a  hrokeii-down, 
plain-looking  animal.  lie  was  put  into  the  horae  stable 
in  a  siall  next  Flettfoot,  and  an  the  partition  was  low, 
they  could  look  over  at  eacii  other.  In  time,  liy  dint  of 
much  doctoniig,  Scruii's  hoofk  became  clean  and  sound, 
and  ho  was  al)le  to  do  some  work.  Miss  Laura  petted  him 
a  great  deal.  She  often  took  out  ap])le8  to  the  stable,  and 
Fleetfoot  would  throw  up  his  beautiful  head  and  look 
reproachfully  over  the  partition  at  her,  for  she  always 
etayed  longer  with  Scrub  than  with  him,  and  Scrub  al- 
ways got  the  larger  share  of  whatever  good  thing  was 
going. 

Poor  old  Scrub  !  I  think  he  loved  Miss  Laura.  He 
was  a  stupid  sort  of  a  Imrse,  and  always  acted  as  if  he 
y  '  blind,  lie  would  run  his  nose  up  and  down  the 
front  of  her  dress,  nip  at  tlio  buttons,  and  be  very  happy 
if  he  could  get  a  bit  oi'  lier  watch-ciiain  between  his  strong 
teeth.  If  he  wits  in  the  held  he  never  seemed  to  know 
her  till  she  wa,s  rii:ht  under  his  pale-colored  eyes.  Then 
he  would  be  deliLjhted  to  see  her.  He  was  not  blind 
though,  for  Mr.  Wood  said  he  was  not.  He  said  he  had 
probably  not  been  an  over-bright  horse  to  start  with,  and 
had  \)eeu  made  niore  dull  by  cruel  usage. 

As  for  the  Englishman,  the  master  of  these  animals,  a 
very  strange  thing  happened  to  him.  He  came  to  a  ter- 
rible end,  but  for  a  long  time  no  one  knew  anything 
about  it.  Mr,  Wood  and  Mr.  Harry  wero  so  very  angry 
with  him,  that  they  said  they  would  leave  no  stone  un- 
turned to  have  him  punished,  or  at  least  to  have  it  known 
what  a  villain  he  was.  They  sent  the  paper  with  the 
crest  on  it  to  Boston.  Some  people  there  wrote  t«  Eng- 
land, and  found  out  that  it  was  the  crest  of  a  noble  and 


tup:  knd  of  the  englishman. 


227 


highly  esteemed  fuinily,  and  fionie  earl  was  at  the  head  of 
it.  Tliey  were  all  hoii(»ral)le  people  in  this  t'aiuily  except 
one  man,  a  ncpiiew,  uit  a  sou  of  the  late  earl,  lie  was 
the  hlac'k  sheep  of  them  all.  As  a  yoiini^  man,  he  had 
led  a  wild  and  wieked  life,  and  iiad  ended  hy  forijing  tho 
name  of  one  of  liis  friends,  so  that  Ik  wils  obliired  tu 
leave  England  and  take  refuge  in  America.  By  tho 
description  of  this  man,  Mr.  Wood  kncv  tiiat  he  must  be 
Mr.  Barron,  so  he  wrote  to  these  ICnglish  people,  and 
told  them  what  a  wiirked  thing  their  relative  had  done 
in  leaving  his  animals  to  S'tarve.  In  v.  short  time,  he  got 
an  answer  from  tiiem,  which  was,  at  the  same  time,  very 
proud  and  very  touching.  It  came  from  Mr.  Barron's 
cousin,  and  he  said  quite  frankly  that  he  knew  his  rela- 
tive was  a  man  of  evil  habits,  but  it  seemed  as  if  notiiing 
could  be  done  to  reform  him.  His  family  was  accus- 
tomed to  send  a  quarterly  allowance  to  him,  on  condition 
that  he  led  a  quiet  life  in  some  retired  place,  but  their 
last  remittance  to  him  was  lying  unclaimed  in  Boston, 
and  they  thought  he  must  be  dead.  Could  Mr.  Wood 
tell  them  anything  about  him  ? 

Mr.  Wood  looked  very  thoughtful  when  he  got  this 
letter,  then  be  said,  "  Harry,  bow  long  is  it  since  Barron 


ran  awav  V  " 


Eng- 


"  About  eight  weeks,"  said  Mr.  Harry. 

"That's  strange,"  said  Mr.  Wood.  "The  money  these 
English  people  sent  him  would  get  to  Boston  just  a  few 
days  after  he  left  here.  He  is  not  the  man  to  leave  it 
long  unclaimed.  Something  must  have  happened  to 
him.  Where  do  you  suppose  he  would  go  from  I'eu- 
hoUow." 

"  I  have  no  idea,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Harry. 

"  And  how  would  be  go  ?  "  said  Mr.  Wood.     "  He  did 


228 


BKALTIFUI,   JOF. 


I 


I  iff 


i\  I 


mk  . 


not  leave  Rivcrdalc  Statioi',  I)ecau8e  he  would  have  been 
spotti'd  by  H(»ineof  his  creditDis." 

"  'Vrhaps  he  would  cut  throujijh  tlie  woods  to  the  June 
tion,'.'  said  Mr.  Harry. 

"Just  what  he  would  do,"  said  Mr.  Wood,  slapping  his 
knee.  "I'll  l)e  drivin;,'  over  there  to-niorrow  to  see 
Thompson,  and  I'll  make  inquiries." 

Mr.  Harry  cprke  to  his  father  the  next  night  when  he 
came  home,  and  iiskcd  him  it'  he  had  found  out  anything. 
"  Only  this,"  said  Mr.  Wood.  "  Tliore's  no  one  answer- 
ing to  Hurnm's  description,  who  has  left  Kiverdale  Junc- 
tion within  a  twelvemonth.  He  mii.«t  have  struck  some 
other  station.  We'll  let  him  go.  Tlie  Lord  looks  out 
for  fellows  like  that." 

"  We  will  look  out  for  him  if  ever  he  comes  back  to  Riv- 
erdale,"  said  Mr.  Harry,  quietly.  All  through  the  village, 
and  in  the  country  it  was  known  what  a  dastardly  trick 
the  Englishman  had  played,  and  he  would  have  been 
roughly  handled,  if  he  had  dared  return. 

Months  ])a.-.sed  away,  and  nothing  was  heard  of  him. 
Late  in  the  autumn,  after  Miss  Laura  and  I  had  gone  back 
to  Fairport,  Mrs.  Wood  wrote  her  about  the  end  of  the 
Englishman.  Some  Rivcrdalc  lads  were  bt  ating  about 
the  woods,  looking  for  lost  cattle,  and  in  their  wanderings 
came  to  an  old  stone  quarry  that  had  been  disused  for 
years.  On  one  side  there  was  a  smooth  wall  of  rock, 
many  feet  deep.  On  the  other  the  ground  and  rock  were 
broken  away,  and  it  was  quite  easy  to  get  into  it.  They 
found  that  by  some  means  or  other,  one  of  their  cows  had 
fallen  into  this  deep  pit,  over  the  steep  side  of  the  quarry. 
Of  course,  the  poor  creature  was  dead,  but  the  boys,  out 
of  curiosity,  resolved  to  go  down  and  look  at  her.  They 
clambered  down,  found  the  cow,  and  to  their  horror  and 


TIIK    END   OF   TIIK    KN'dl.ISlIMA  N. 


":) 


ainjizcrnont,  di.acovprod  near  by  the  Bkeltton  of  a  man. 
Tlicrt'  w.v*  a  licavv  walkiiiu'-ti<"k  by  his  siic,  wliirh  tiny 
rt'coi,'iiiz('(i  'M  Dtu'  that  the  ICiiu'Hshmaii  liail  carried. 

He  was  a  ilriniuii'^  iiiaii,  aixl  {nrhapH  Ik;  had  takrn 
SDMU'thiiii;  tliat  ho  tiioiiiriit  would  strengthen  him  for  hia 
morniiiLr's  walk,  hut  which  had.  on  the  contrary,  hcwiid- 
ered  him,  and  made  him  lose  hifl  way  and  tall  into  the 
qrarry.  Or  he  ini;rht  have  started  hef-re  daybreak,  and 
in  the  darkness  have  sli[)i)ed  and  ralicn  down  this  steep 
wall  of  rock.  One  leg  Wiis  doubled  i.iider  him,  and  it  ho 
had  not  been  instantly  killed  by  the  fall,  he  nuist  h.  ,o 
been  so  disabled  that  he  could  not  move.  In  that  lonely 
place,  he  would  call  for  help  in  vain,  so  he  may  have  per- 
ished by  the  terrible  death  of  starvation — the  death  bo 
had  thought  to  mete  out  to  his  sullering  animals. 

Mrs.  Wood  said  that  there  wa.s  never  a  sermon  preached 
in  Riverdale,  that  had  the  ett'ect  that  the  death  of  thia 
wicked  man  had,  and  it  reminded  her  of  a  verse  in  tho 
Bible:  "  He  made  a  pit  and  he  digged  it,  and  is  fallen 
into  the  ditch  which  he  matii'."  Mrs.  Wood  said  that  her 
husband  had  written  about  the  finding  of  Mr.  Barron's 
body  to  his  English  relatives,  and  had  received  a  letter 
from  them  in  which  they  seemed  relieved  to  he.ar  that  he 
was  dead.  They  thauketl  Mr.  Wood  for  bis  plain  speak- 
ing in  telling  them  of  their  relative's  misdeeds,  and  said 
that  from  all  they  knew  of  Mr.  Barron's  past  conduct, 
his  influence  would  be  for  evil  and  not  for  good,  in  any 
place  that  he  chose  to  live  in.  They  were  having  their 
money  sent  from  Boston  to  Mr.  Wood,  and  they  wishetl 
him  to  expend  it  in  the  way  be  thought  best  fitted  to 
counteract  the  evil  effects  of  their  namesake's  doinsra  in 
Kiverdale. 

When  this  money  came,  it  amounted  to  some  hundreds 


i 


230 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


of  dollar?.  Mr.  Wood  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  it. 
He  handed  it  over  to  the  Band  of  Mercy,  and  they 
formed  what  they  call  the  "Barron  F\!nd,"  wiiich  they 
drew  upon  when  ilicy  wanted  money  for  buying  and  cir- 
culating humane  literature.  Mrs.  Wood  said  that  the 
fund  was  being  added  to,  and  the  children  were  sending 
all  over  the  State,  leaflets  and  little  books  which  preuched 
the  gos{>el  of  kindness  to  God's  lower  creation.  A 
etranger  picking  one  of  them  up.  and  seeing  the  name  o*" 
the  wicked  Englishman  printed  on  the  title  page,  would 
think  that  he  was  a  friend  and  benefactor  to  the  Riverdale 
people — the  very  opposite  of  what  he  gloried  ia  being. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 


A   TALK    ABOUT   SIIKICP 


ISS  LAiniA  was  vtiv  much  iriteiiHtcd  in  tlio 
sheep  oil  Dingley  Ftiriu.  There  waa  a  Ihick  in 
the  orchard  near  the  house  that  phe  often  went 
to  eee.  She  always  carried  roots  and  veg(!tahh;8  to  th(aii, 
turnips  particiihirly,  for  thi-y  were  very  fond  of  them  ;  \m* 
they  wonhl  not  come  to  her  to  get  them,  for  they  did  noi 
knov/  her  voii.'f.  They  only  lifted  their  heads  and  ntared 
at  her  when  she  called  thetn.  Jiiit  when  tlu-y  heard  Mr. 
Wood's  voice,  they  ran  to  the  fence  hleatini,'  with  plea- 
sure, and  trying  to  push  their  noses  thmiigli  to  get  tim 
carrot  or  turnip,  or  whatever  he  w:ia  handing  to  tlieni. 
He  called  them  his  iittie  Southdowns,  and  hi^  said  liu 
loved  his  sheep,  for  they  were  the  most  gentle  and  inotien- 
sive  creatures  tluit  he  Ind  on  l»is  farm. 

One  day  wiien  he  came  into  the  kit'Jien  inquiring  for 
salt,  Miss  Laura  said,  "  Is  it  for  the  sheep?  " 

"  Yes."  he  replied  ;  "  I  am  going  up  to  the  woods  piij*turo 
to  examine  my  Sliropshires." 

"You  would  like  to  go  too,  Laura,"  said  Mrs.  Wood. 
"Take  vour  hands  right  awav  from  that  cake.  I'll  lliiihli 
frosting  it  for  you.  Run  along  and  get  your  hroml- 
brimmed  hat.     It's  very  hot." 

Miss  Laura  danced  out  into  the  hall  and  hack  again, 
and  soon  we  were  walking  up,  hack  of  tlie  house,  along  a 
path  that  led  us  through  the  tields  to  the  pa.'^ture,     "  \V  li,ii 

'm 


232 


BEAUTIFUL   JOI 


i 


are  you  going  to  do,  uncle ?"  she  said;  "and  whot  r.ro 
those  funny  things  in  your  hands  ?  " 

"Toe-clippers,"  he  replied;  "and  I  am  going  to  ex* 
an>ine  the  sheeps'  hoofd.  You  know  we've  had  warm, 
racist  weather  all  through  July,  and  I'm  afraid  of  fuot 
rot.  Then  they're  sometimes  troubled  with  ovisr-grown 
hoofs." 

"What  do  you  do  if  they  get  foot  rot?"  aakojl  Mi.* 
Laura. 

" live  various  cures,"  he  said.  "Paring  and  clipping, 
and  dipping  the  hoof  in  blue  vitriol  and  vin(!gar,  or  rub- 
bing it  on,  as  the  English  shepherds  do.  It  dextroyg  the 
diseased  part,  but  doesn't  affect  the  sound.'' 

"  Do  sheep  have  many  diseases ?  "  askcMl  Miss  Laura. 
"  I  know  one  of  them  myself — that  is  the  scab." 

"A  nasty  thing  that,"  said  Mr.  Wood,  vigorouHly; 
"  and  a  man  that  builds  up  a  ilock  from  a  stockyard  often 
finds  it  out  to  his  cost." 

"  What  is  it  like  ?  "  asked  IMiss  Laura. 

"The  sheep  get  scabby  from  a  microbe  under  the  nkiii 
which  causes  them  to  itch  fearfully,  and  they  loso  their 
wool." 

"  And  can't  it  be  cured  ?" 

"Oh,  yes!  with  time  and  attention.  There  ore  dif- 
ferent remedies.     I  believe  petroleum  is  the  best." 

By  this  time  we  had  got  to  a  wide  gate  that  ojHiruul  into 
the  pasture.  As  Mr.  Wood  let  Miss  Laura  go  through 
and  then  closed  it  behind  her,  he  said,  "  You  arc  looking 
at  that  gate.  You  want  to  know  why  it  is  so  long,  (lou't 
you?" 

"  Yes,  uncle,"  she  said ;  "  but  I  can't  bear  to  unk  m 
many  questions." 

"  Aak  as  many  as  you  like,"  he  said,  good-nntur<!<1Iy 


A   TALK   ABOUT  SHEEP. 


233 


luk    M) 


"I  don't  mind  answering  them.     Have  you  ever  Boen 
filieep  pass  through  a  gate  or  door?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  often." 

"  And  how  do  they  act? " 

"  Oh,  80  silly,  uncle.  They  hang  back,  and  one  waits 
for  another ;  and,  finally,  they  all  try  to  go  at  once.'' 

"  Precisely ;  when  one  goes  they  all  want  to  go,  if  it 
was  to  jump  into  a  bottomless  pit.  Many  slieep  are  in- 
jured by  overcrowding,  so  I  have  my  gates  and  doors 
very  wide.  Now  let  us  call  them  up."  There  Wiu^n't 
one  in  sight,  but  when  Mr.  Wood  lifted  up  his  voice  and 
cried :  "  Ca  nan,  nan.  nan  !  "  black  faces  began  to  peer 
out  from  among  the  bushes ;  and  little  black  legs,  carry- 
ing white  bodies,  came  hurrying  up  the  stony  paths  from 
the  cooler  parts  of  the  pasture.  Oh  how  glad  they  were 
to  get  the  salt !  Mr.  Wood  let  Miss  Laura  spread  it  on 
some  flat  rocks,  then  they  sat  down  on  a  log  under  a  tree 
and  watched  them  eating  it  and  licking  the  rocks  when 
it  was  all  gone.  Miss  Laura  sat  fanning  herself  with  her 
hat  and  smiling  at  them.  "  You  funny,  woolly  things," 
she  said ;  "  You're  not  so  stupid  as  some  people  think 
you  are.  Lie  still,  Joe.  If  you  show  yourself,  they  may 
run  away." 

I  crouched  behind  the  log,  and  only  lifted  my  head  oc- 
casionally to  see  what  the  sheep  were  doing.  Some  of 
them  went  back  into  the  woods,  for  it  was  very  hot  in  this 
bare  part  of  the  pasture,  but  the  most  of  them  would  not 
leave  Mr.  Wood,  and  stood  staring  at  him.  "That's  a 
fine  sheep,  isn't  it  ?  "  said  Miss  Laura,  pointing  to  one 
with  the  blackest  face,  and  blackest  legs,  and  largest  body 
of  those  near  us. 

"Yes,  that's  old  Jessica.  Do  you  notice  how  she'j 
holding  her  head  close  to  the  ground?" 


f  J 

I       i' 


234 


BEAUriFUI,   JOE. 


"  Yes,  is  there  any  reason  for  it?  " 

"  There  is,  Slie's  afraid  of  tlie  <,'riib  fly.  You  often  see 
sheep  hoKling  their  noses  in  that  way  in  the  summertime. 
It  is  to  prevent  the  fly  from  going  into  their  nostrils,  and 
depositing  an  cg^,  whicli  will  turn  into  a  grub  and  annoy 
and  worry  tliem  When  the  fly  comes  near,  they  give  a 
sniff*  and  run  as  if  they  were  crazy,  still  holding  their 
nosca  close  to  the  ground.  When  I  was  a  boy,  and  the 
sheep  did  that,  we  thought  that  they  had  colds  in  their 
heads,  and  used  to  rub  tar  on  their  noses.  We  knew 
nothing  atmut  the  fly  then,  but  the  tar  cured  them,  and  is 
just  what  I  use  now  Two  or  three  times  a  month  during 
hot  weather,  we  put  a  few  drops  of  it  on  the  nose  of  every 
sheep  in  the  flock." 

"I  suppose  farmers  are  like  other  people,  and  are  al- 
ways finding  out  better  ways  of  doing  their  work,  aren't 
they,  uncle  ?  "  said  Miss  Laura. 

"  Yes,  my  child.  The  older  I  grow,  the  more  I  find 
out,  and  the  better  care  I  take  of  my  stock.  My  grand- 
father would  open  his  eyes  in  amazement,  and  ask  me  if 
I  was  an  old  wonian  petting  her  cats,  if  he  were  alive, 
and  could  know  the  care  I  give  my  sheep.  He  used  to 
let  his  flock  run  till  the  fields  were  covered  with  snow,  and 
bite  as  close  as  they  liked,  till  there  wasn't  a  scrap  of 
feed  left.  Then  he  would  give  them  an  open  shed  to  run 
under,  and  throw  dov.ii  their  fiay  outside.  Grain  they 
scarcely  knewtiie  taste  of  That  they  would  fall  off*  in 
flesh,  and  half  of  ihem  lose  their  lambs  in  the  spring, 
was  an  expected  thing.  He  would  say  I  had  them  ken- 
nelled, if  he  could  see  my  big,  closed  sheds,  with  the 
sunny  windows  that  my  flock  spend  the  winter  in.  I 
even  house  them  during  the  bad  fall  storms.  They  can 
run  out  again.     Indeed,  I  like  to  get  them  in,  and  have  a 


'I- 


A    TALK    ABOUT  SHEEP. 


235 


snack  of  dry  food,  to  break  them  in  to  it.  They  are  in 
and  out  of  those  sheds  all  winter.  Voii  must  go  in, 
Laura,  and  see  the  self-feeding  racks.  On  bright,  winter 
days  they  get  a  run  in  the  cornfields.  Cold  doesn't  hurt 
sheep.     It's  the  heavy  rain  that  soaks  tlieir  fleeces. 

"  With  ray  way  I  seldom  lose  a  sheep,  and  they're  the 
most  profitable  stock  I  have.  If  I  could  not  keep  them, 
I  think  I'd  give  up  farming.  Last  year  my  lambs  netted 
me  eight  dollars  each.  The  fleeces  of  the  ewes  average 
eight  pounds,  and  sell  for  two  didlars  each.  That's  some- 
thing to  brag  of  in  these  days,  when  so  many  arc  giving 
up  the  sheep  industry." 

"How  many  sheep  have  you,  uncle?"  asked  Miss 
Laura. 

"Only  fit\y,  now.  Twenty-five  here  and  twenty-five 
down  below  in  the  orchard.  I've  been  selling  a  good 
many  this  spring." 

"These  sheep  are  larger  than  those  in  the  orchard, 
aren't  they?"  said  jMiss  Laura. 

"  Yes ;  I  keep  those  few  Southdowns  for  their  fine 
quality.  I  don't  make  as  mucli  on  them  as  I  do  on  these 
Shropshires.  For  an  all-around  sheep  I  like  the  Shrop- 
shire. It's  good  for  mutton,  for  wool,  and  for  rearing 
Iambs.  There's  a  great  demand  for  mutton  nowadays, 
all  tlirough  our  eastern  cities.  People  want  more  and 
more  of  it.  And  it  has  to  be  tender,  and  juicy,  and  finely 
flavored,  so  a  person  has  to  be  particular  about  the  feed 
the  sheep  get." 

"  Don't  you  hate  to  have  tliesc  creatures  killed,  tliat 
you  have  raised  and  tended  so  carefully  ?  "  said  Miss 
Laura  with  a  littie  shudder. 

"  I  do,"  said  her  uncle,  "  but  never  an  animal  goes  oflT 
my  place  that  I  don't  know  just  h.ow  it's  going  to  be  put 


? 


236 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


to  death.  None  of  your  sending  sheep  to  market  with 
tiuir  legs  tied  together,  and  jaiiiined  in  a  cart,  and  sweat- 
ing and  suirering,  (or  mc.  They've  got  to  go  standing 
conifortahiy  on  tiieir  legs,  or  go  not  at  all.  And  I'm  go- 
ing to  know  the  hutchor  that  kills  my  animals,  that  have 
been  petted  like  children.  I  said  to  Davidson,  over  there 
in  Hoytvillc,  '  If  I  thought  you  would  herd  my  sheep  and 
lambs  and  calves  together,  and  take  them  one  by  one  in 
sight  of  the  ret^t,  and  stick  your  knife  into  them,  or  stun 
them,  and  have  the  others  lowing,  and  bleating,  and  crying 
in  their  misery,  this  is  the  last  consignment  you  would 
ever  get  from  me.' 

"  He  said,  '  Wood,  I  don't  like  my  business,  but  on  the 
word  of  an  honest  man,  ray  butchering  is  done  us  well  as 
it  can  be.    Come  aud  see  for  yourself.' 

"  He  took  me  to  his  slaugiiter-house,  and  though  I  didn't 
stay  long,  1  saw  enough  to  convince  me  that  he  spoke  the 
truth.  He  has  different  pens  and  sheds,  and  the  killing 
is  done  as  quietly  as  possible  ;  the  animals  are  taken  in 
one  by  one,  and  though  the  others  suspect  what  is  going  on, 
they  can't  see  it." 

"  These  sheep  are  a  long  way  from  the  house,"  said 
Miss  Laura ;  "  don't  the  dogs  that  you  were  telling  me 
about  attack  them  ? " 

"  No,  for  since  I  had  that  brush  with  Windham's  dog, 
I've  trained  them  to  go  and  come  with  the  cows.  It's  a 
queer  thing,  but  cows  that  will  run  from  a  dog  when  they 
are  alone,  will  fight  him  if  he  meddles  with  their  calves 
or  the  sheep.  There's  not  a  dog  around  that  would  dare 
to  come  into  this  pasture,  for  he  knows  tlie  cows  would  be 
after  him  with  lowered  horns,  and  a  business  look  in  their 
eyes.  The  sheep  in  the  orchard  are  safe  enough,  for 
they're  near  the  house  and  if  a  strange  dog  came  around, 


A    TALK    A  ROUT   SHEEP. 


007 


Jop  woiiM  .sottlo  him,  wouldn't  you,  Joe  ?  "  ami  Mr.  Wood 
looked  hf'liind  the  hf^  at  iiio. 

I  got  up  and  put  my  hrad  on  his  arm,  and  he  went  on: 
*'  By  and  by,  the  Soutlidowns  will  he  elianired  up  here,  and 
tiie  Siirojishires  will  go  down  to  the  orchard.  I  like  to 
keep  one  flock  under  my  fruit  tree.-*.  Ymi  know  there  is 
an  old  proverb,  '  The  sheep  hiu  a  golder.  hoof.*  They 
save  me  tlie  trouble  of  plougliing.  I  haven't  piouglu'd  my 
orchard  for  ten  years,  and  don't  expect  to  plough  it  for 
ten  years  more.  Then  your  Aunt  Ilattie's  hens  are  so 
obliging  tliat  they  keep  me  from  the  worry  of  finding 
ticks  at  sliearing  time.  All  the  year  round,  I  let  them 
run  among  the  sheep,  and  they  nab  every  tick  they  see." 
"  How  closely  sheej)  bite,"  exclaimed  Mi.ss  Laura,  point- 
ing to  one  that  was  nibl)ling  almost  at  his  master's  feet. 

"  Very  close,  and  tliey  eat  a  goixl  many  tilings  that 
cows  don't  relis-h — bitter  weeds,  and  briars,  and  shrubs, 
and  the  young  ferns  that  come  up  in  the  spring." 

"  I  wish  I  could  get  hold  of  one  of  those  dear  little 
lambs,"  said  Miss  Laura.  "See  that  sweet  little  blackio 
back  in  the  alders.     Could  you  not  coax  him  up?  " 

"  He  wouldn't  come  here,"  said  her  uncle,  kindly,  "  but 
I'll  try  and  got  him  for  you."  He  rose,  and  after  several 
efforts  succeeded  in  capturing  the  black-faced  creature, 
and  bringing  him  up  to  the  log.  He  was  very  shy  of 
Miss  Laura,  but  Mr.  Wood  lield  him  firmly,  and  let  her 
stroke  his  head  as  much  as  she  liked.  "  You  call  him  lit- 
tle," said  Mr.  Wood  ;  "  if  you  put  your  arm  around  him, 
you'll  find  he's  a  pretty  substantial  lamb.  He  was  born 
in  JIarch.  This  is  the  liu^t  of  July,  he'll  be  shorn  the 
middle  of  next  month,  and  think  he's  quite  grown  up. 
Poor  little  animal !  he  had  quite  a  struggle  for  life.  The 
sheep  were  turned  out  to  pasture  in  April.     They  can't 


■iIHa 


238 


BEAUTIFUL   JOE. 


bear  confinement  as  well  as  the  cows,  and  as  they  bite  closer 
tliey  can  be  turned  out  earlier,  and  got  on  well  by  having 
good  rations  itf  corn  in  addition  to  the  grass,  which  is  thin 
and  poor  so  early  in  the  spring.  This  young  creature 
was  running  by  his  mother's  side,  rather  a  weak-legged, 
poor  specimen  of  a  lamb.  Every  night  the  (lock  was 
put  under  shelter,  for  the  ground  was  cold,  and  though 
the  sheep  might  not  sutler  from  lying  out-doors,  the  lamina 
would  get  chilled.  One  night  this  fellow's  mother  got 
astray,  and  as  Hen  neglected  to  make  the  count,  she 
wasn't  missed.  I'm  always  anxious  about  my  lambs  iu 
the  spring,  and  often  get  up  in  the  night  to  look  after 
them.  That  night  I  went  out  about  two  o'clock.  I  took 
it  into  my  heat!  for  sotue  reason  or  other,  to  count  them. 
I  found  a  sheep  and  lamb  missing,  took  my  lantern  and 
Bruno,  who  was  some  good  at  tracking  sheep,  and  staited 
out.  Bruno  barked  and  I  called,  and  the  foolish  creature 
came  to  me,  the  little  lamb  staggering  after  her.  I  wrapped 
the  lami)  in  my  coat,  took  it  to  the  house,  made  a  fire,  and 
heated  some  milk.  Your  A-int  IIuLtie  heard  me  and  got 
up.  She  woft't  let  me  give  brandy  even  to  a  dumb  beast, 
BO  I  put  some  ground  ginger,  which  is  just  as  good,  in  the 
milk,  and  forced  it  down  the  lamb's  throat.  Then  we 
wrapped  au  old  l)ia'>la't  rouvd  him,  and  put  him  near  the 
Btt)ve,  and  the  next  evening  ho  was  ready  to  go  back  to 
his  mother.  I  petted  him  all  through  April,  and  gave 
him  extras — dill'erent  kinds  of  meal,  till  1  found  what 
suited  him    best;  now  he  does  me  credit." 

"  Dear  little  lamb,"  said  Miss  Laura,  patting  him. 
"  How  can  you  tell  him  from  the  others,  uncle?" 

"  I  know  all  their  faces,  Laura.  A  flock  of  sheep  is 
just  like  a  crowd  of  people.  They  all  have  different  ex- 
pressions, and  have  different  dispositions." 


A   TAI-K    ABOUT  SHEEP. 


239 


him. 


"They  all  look  alike  to  me,"  said  Miss  Laura. 

"  I  dure  say.  You  are  not  accustomed  to  them.  Do 
you  know  how  to  tell  a  sheep's  age  ?  " 

"  No,  uncle." 

"  Here,  open  your  mouth,  G)sset,"  he  said  to  the  lamb 
that  he  still  held.  "  At  one  year  they  have  two  teeth  in 
the  centre  of  the  jaw.  They  got  two  teeth  more  every 
year  up  to  five  years.  Then  we  say  they  have 'a  full 
mouth.'  After  that  you  can't  tell  their  age  exactly  by 
the  teeth.  Now  run  back  to  your  mother,"  and  he  let 
the  lamb  go. 

"  Do  they  always  know  their  own  mothers  ?  "  aaked  Misa 
Laura. 

"  Usually.  Sometimes  a  ewe  will  not  own  her  lamb. 
In  that  ca.sc  we  tie  them  up  in  a  separate  stall  till  she 
recognizes  it.  Do  you  see  that  sheep  over  there  by  the 
bluel)crry  bushes — the  one  with  the  very  pointed  eaii?  " 

"  Yes  uncle,"  said  Miss  Laura. 

"  That  lamb  by  her  side  is  not  her  own.  Hers  died 
and  we  took  its  fleece  and  wrapped  it  around  a  t^  in  lamb 
that  we  took  from  another  esve,  and  gave  to  her.  She  soou 
adopted  it.  Now  come  this  way,  and  I'll  show  you  our 
movable  feeding  troughs." 

lie  got  up  from  the  h<s,  and  Miss  Laura  followed  him 
to  the  fence.  "These  big  troughs  are  fur  tlie  sheep,"  said 
Mr.  Wood  ;  "  and  those  -hallow  ones  in  the  enclosure,  are 
for  the  lambs.  See  there  is  just  room  enough  for  them 
to  get  under  the  fence.  You  should  see  th.e  small  crea- 
tures rush  to  tlit'iu  whenever  we  appear  with  their  oat><, 
and  wheat,  or  bran,  or  whatever  we  are  going  to  give 
them.  If  they  are  going  to  the  butcher,  they  get  corn 
meal  and  oil  meal.  Whatever  it  is,  they  eat  it  up  clean. 
1  don't  believe  in  crammiu''  animals.     I  feed  them  ad 


".t  '-' 


240 


BEAUTI'^UL   JOE. 


II 


.  t 


ltt> 


much  as  is  good  for  thcni  and  not  any  more.  Now  you 
go  down  over  iliero  hohind  those  bushes  wita  Joe,  and 
I'll  atttjnd  to  lr,i!iincss." 

Mi.Hs  Laura  found  a  shady  place  and  I  curled  myself 
up  beside  her.  We  sat  there  u  long  time,  but  we  did  not 
get  tired,  fu'  it  was  amusing  to  watch  the  sheep  and 
lambs.  After  a  while,  Mr.  Wood  came  and  sat  down 
beside  us.  He  talked  some  more  about  fchcep-raising; 
then  he  said,  "  You  may  stay  here  longer  if  you  like,  but 
I  nuist  get  down  to  the  house.  The  work  must  be  done 
if  tiie  weather  is  liot." 

"  What  an;  you  going  to  do  now?  "  asked  Miss  Laura, 
jumping  up. 

"Oh!  more  sheep  business.  I've  set  out  some  young 
trees  in  the  orchard,  and  unless  I  get  chicken  wire  around 
them,  my  sheep  will  be  barking  them  for  mo." 

"I've  seen  them,"  said  Miss  Laura,  "standing  up  on 
their  hind  legs  and  nibbling  at  the  trees,  taking  off  every 
shoot  they  can  rfach." 

"  They  don't  hurt  the  old  trees,"  said  Mr.  Wood  ;  "  but 
the  young  ones  have  to  be  protected.  It  pay.  le  to  take 
care  of  my  iVuit  trees,  for  I  get  a  splendid  crop  from  them, 
thanks  to  the  sheep." 

"  Good-bye,  little  lambs  and  dear  old  sheep,"  said  Misa 
Laura,  aa  her  uncle  opened  the  gate  for  her  to  leave  the 
pa.sture.  "  I'll  come  and  see  you  again  som'tlme.  Now 
you  had  better  get  down  to  the  brook  iv  the  dingle  and 
have  a  drink.     You  look  hot  in  your  warm  coats." 

"You've  ma.-.tered  one  detail  of  sheep-keeping,"  said 
Mr.  Wood,  as  he  slowly  walked  along  beside  his  niece. 
"To  raise  healthy  sheep  one  must  have  pure  water  where 
they  can  get  to  it  whenever  they  like.  Give  them  g  od 
v;atei',  good  food,  and  a  variety  of  it,  good  quarters — cool 


A   TALK    AliOUT   SIIEKP 


2)1 


Now  you 
ta  J(ic,  and 

led  myself 
•wc  did  not 
sheep  and 
1  sat  down 
.■ej)-raisini? ; 
)ii  like,  but 
list  be  done 

Miss  Laura, 

iome  young 
wire  around 

ding  up  on 
ng  ofr  every 

rood;  "but 

le  to  take 

from  them, 

"  said  Miss 
0  leave  the 

inie.     Now 

dingle  and 
oats." 

eping,"  said 
e  his  niece, 
water  where 

them  g  od 
arters — cool 


in  summer,  comfortable  in  winter,  and  keep  them  quiot, 
and  you'll  make  them  iuippy  and  make  money  ou  ilu  m." 

"I  think  I'd  like  »heep-rai«iug,"  said  Mi.-w  Laura; 
"won't  you  have  me  for  your  llock-niistni's',  uiiele?" 

He  laughed,  and  said  he  thought  not,  for  she  would 
cry  every  time  any  .^f  her  charge  were  sent  to  the  butcher. 

After  this  Miss  I^aura  and  I  often  went  up  to  the  pas- 
ture to  see  the  sheep  and  the  lainits.  We  used  to  get  into 
a  shady  pla-^'X)  where  they  could  not  see  us,  and  watch 
them.  One  day  I  got  a  gr«!at  surprise  about  the  sheep. 
I  had  heard  so  much  about  their  meekness  that  I  never 
dreamed  that  they  would  fight ;  but  it  turned  out  that 
they  did,  and  they  went  about  it  in  such  a  business-like 
way,  that  I  could  not  help  smiling  at  them.  I  suppose 
that  like  most  other  animals  they  had  a  spice  of  wicked- 
ness in  them.  On  this  day  a  (juarrel  arose  between  two 
sheep  ;  but  instead  of  running  at  each  other  like  two  dogs 
they  went  a  long  distance  apart,  and  then  came  rushing 
at  each  other  with  lowered  heads.  Their  object  seemed 
to  be  to  break  each  other's  skull ;  but  Miss  Laura  soon 
stopped  them  by  calling  out  and  frightening  them  apart. 
I  thought  that  the  lambs  were  more  interesting  than  the 
sheep.  Sometimes  they  fed  quietly  by  their  mothers* 
sides,  and  at  other  times  they  all  huddled  together  on  the 
top  of  some  flat  rock  or  in  a  bare  place,  and  seemed  to  be 
talking  to  each  other  with  their  heads  close  together. 
Suddenly  one  would  jump  down,  and  start  for  the  bushes 
or  the  other  side  of  the  pasture.  They  would  all  follow 
pell-mell ;  then  in  a  few  minutes  they  would  come  rush- 
ing back  again.  It  was  pretty  to  see  them  playing 
together  and  having  a  good  time  before  the  sorrowful  day 
of  their  death  came. 


'    I 


1*1 


CHAPTER  XXX. 


A    JKALOLI3    OX. 


R.  WOOD  had  n  dozen  culvos  that  he  waa  rais- 
iuj,',  and  Misa  Laura  soiuetinicd  went  up  to  the 
stable  to  see  thoin.  Kach  calf  wius  in  a  eril),  and 
it  WJis  fed  with  milk.  They  hud  tjontle,  patient  faces,  and 
beautiful  eyes,  and  looked  very  meek,  as  tliey  stood  quietly 
gazing  about  them,  or  sucking  away  at  their  milk.  They 
reminded  me  of  big,  gentle  dogs. 

I  never  got  a  very  good  look  at  them  in  their  cribs, 
but  one  day  when  they  were  old  enough  to  be  let  out,  I 
went  up  with  Miss  Laura  to  the  yard  where  tliey  were 
kept.  Such  queer,  ungainly,  large-boned  creatures  they 
were,  and  such  a  good  time  they  were  having,  running 
and  jumping  and  throwing  up  their  heels. 

Mrs.  Wood  waa  with  us,  and  sne  said  tliat  it  was  not 
good  for  calves  to  be  closely  penned  after  tliey  got  to  be 
a  few  weeks  old.  They  were  better  for  getting  out  and 
having  a  frol'c.  She  stood  beside  Mii-s  Laura  for  a  long 
time,  watching  the  calves,  and  laughing  a  great  deal  at 
their  awkward  irambols.  Thev  wanted  to  plav,  but  thev 
did  not  seem  to  know  how  to  u.se  their  limbs. 

They  were  lean  calves,  and  Miss  Laura  asked  her  aunt 

why  all  the  nice  nulk'they  had  taken,  had  not  made  them 

f\\t.     "The  fat  will  come   all   in  good  time,"  said   Mrs. 

Wood.     "  A  fat  calf  makes  a  poor  cow,  and  a  fat,  small 

24? 


e  was  raw- 
it  up  to  the 
acril),  and 
t  I'aceg,  ami 
;oi)il  quietly 
iijlk.    They 

;lieir  cribs, 
e  let  out,  I 
they  were 
iturcs  they 
lij,  ninning 

it  was  not 
got  to  be 
<f  out  and 
for  a  long 
?at  deal  at 
V,  but  they 

1  her  aunt 

made  them 

said   Mrs. 

fat,  small 


A    JKAt.OUS   ox. 


24.1 


calf  isn't  profitable  to  fit  for  sending  to  the  butcher.  It's 
better  to  liave  a  bony  one  and  fatten  it.  If  you  come  hero 
next  suninicr,  you'll  see  a  tine  show  of  yoiin^  cattle,  with 
fat  .sides,  and  big,  o[>i'n  horns,  and  a  good  coat  of  hair. 
Can  you  imagine,"  she  went  on  indignantly,  "  thu!  any 
one  could  be  cruel  enough  to  torture  such  a  harmless 
creature  as  a  calf?  " 

"  No,  indeed,"  replied  Miss  Laura.  "  Who  has  been 
doing  it  ?  " 

"  Who  has  been  doing  it  ?  "  repeated  Mrs.  Wood,  bit- 
terly ;  "  they  are  doing  it  all  the  time.  Do  you  know  what 
makes  the  nice,  white  veal  one  gets  in  big  cities?  The 
calves  are  bled  to  death.  They  linger  for  hours,  and 
moan  their  lives  away.  The  first  time  I  heard  it,  I  was 
80  angry  that  I  cried  for  a  day,  and  made  John  promise 
that  he'd  never  send  another  animal  of  his  to  a  big  city 
to  be  killed.  That's  why  all  of  our  stock  goes  to  Hoyt- 
ville,  and  small  country  places.  Oh,  those  big  cities  are 
awful  places,  Laura.  It  seems  to  me  that  it  makes  peo- 
ple wicked  to  huddle  thera  together,     I'd  rather  live  in  a 

desert  than  a  city.    There's  Ch o.    Every  night  since 

I've  been  there  I  pray  to  the  Lord  either  to  chanire  the 
hearts  of  some  of  the  wicked  {)eople  in  it,  or  to  destroy 
thera  oft'  the  face  of  the  earth.  You  know  three  years  ago 
I  got  run  down,  and  your  uncle  saiil  I'd  got  to  have    a 

change,  so  he  sent  me  off*  to  my  brother's  in  Ch o.     I 

stayed  and  enjoyed  myself  pretty  well,  for  it  is  a  wonder- 
ful city,  till  one  day  some  Westei  n  men  came  in,  who 
had  been  visiting  the  slaughter-houses  outside  the  city. 
I  sat  and  listened  to  their  talk,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
I  was  hearing  the  description  of  a  great  battle.  These 
men  were  cattle  dealers,  and  had  been  sending  stock  to 
Ch 0,  and  they  were  furious  that  men  in  their  rage  for 


244 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


wealth,  would  so  utterly  ignore  and  trample  on  all  decent 
and  huiuane  feelings,  as  to  torture  uuiinala  as  the  Ch-  — o 
men  were  doing. 

"  It  is  too  dreadful  to  repeat  the  siglits  they  saw.  I  lis- 
tened till  they  were  describing  Te.xan  steers  kicking  in 
agony  under  the  torture  that  wsvs  practised,  and  then  I 
gave  a  loud  scream,  and  fainted  dead  away.  They  had 
to  send  for  your  uncle,  and  l,e  brought  me  home,  and  for 
days  and  days  I  heard  nothing  but  shouting  ar  '  swearing, 
and  saw  animals  dripping  with  blood,  and  crying  and 
moaning  in  their  anguish,  and  now  Laura,  if  you'd  lay 

down  a  bit  of  Ch o  meat,  and  cover  it  with  gold,  I'd 

spurn  it  from  me.  But  w'  ,v'  am  I  saying?  you're  as  white 
as  a  sheet.  Come  see  tl  '♦"■  stab''  John's  just  had  it 
whitewashed." 

Miss  Laura  took  her  aunt's  arm,  and  I  walked  slowly 
behind  them.  The  cow  stable  was  a  long  building,  well- 
built,  and  with  no  chinks  in  the  walls,  as  Jenkins's  stable 
had.  There  were  large  windows  where  the  afternoon  sun 
canie  streaming  in,  and  a  number  of  ventilators,  and  a 
great  many  stalls.  A  pipe  of  water  ran  through  the 
stalls  from  one  end  of  the  stable  to  the  other.  The  floor 
was  covered  with  saw  dust  and  leaves,  and  the  ceiling  and 
tops  of  the  walls  were  whitewashed.  Mrs.  Wood  said 
that  her  husband  would  not  have  the  waiib  a  gkre  of 
white  right  down  to  the  floor,  because  he  thought  it  in- 
jured the  animals'  eyes.  So  the  lower  parts  of  the  walls 
were  siained  a  dark,  brown  color. 

There  were  doors  at  each  end  of  the  stable,  and  just 
now  they  stood  open,  and  a  gentle  breeze  was  blowing 
through,  but  Mrs.  Wood  said  that  when  the  cattle  stood 
in  the  stalls,  both  doors  were  never  allowed  to  be  open  at 
the  same  time.    Mr.  Wood  was  most  particular  to  have 


A   JEALOUS  OX. 


2ir> 


Ilis- 


no  drafls  blowiug  upon  hia  cuttle.  He  would  not  have 
them  ciiilled,  and  lie  would  not  have  them  ovcrlii'Utt'd. 
One  tiling  was  as  bud  in  the  other.  And  during  thu 
winter,  they  were  never  allowed  to  drink  icy  wut<T,  IIo 
t(X)k  the  chill  off  the  water  for  his  cows,  juHt  us  Mrs. 
Wood  did  for  her  hens. 

*'  You  know,  Laura,"  Mrs.  Wood  went  on,  "  that 
when  cows  are  kept  dry  and  warm,  they  eat  h'fs  than 
when  they  are  cold  and  wet.  They  are  so  wartn-hloodt-d 
that  if  they  are  cold,  they  have  to  eat  a  great  deal  to 
keep  up  the  heat  of  their  bodies,  so  it  pays  l)ett<!r  to 
house  and  feed  them  well.  They  like  quiet  too.  I  never 
knew  that,  till  I  married  your  uncle.  On  our  farm,  the 
boys  always  shouted  and  screamed  at  the  cows  when  they 
were  driving  them,  and  sometimes  they  mude  them  run. 
They're  never  allowed  to  do  that  here." 

"I  have  noticed  how  quiet  this  farm  seems,"  said  Mi(« 
Laura.  "You  have  so  many  men  about,  and  yet  there  is 
EO  little  noise," 

"  Your  uncle  whistles  a  great  deal,"  said  Mrs.  Wood, 
"  Have  you  noticed  that  ?  He  whi-stles  when  he'rt  about 
his  work,  and  then  he  hiis  a  calling  whistle  that  nearly  all 
of  the  animals  know,  and  the  men  run  when  tliey  hear  it. 
You'd  see  every  cow  in  this  stalile  turn  its  iicad,  if  he 
whistled  in  a  certain  way  outside.  He  says  tliut  he  got 
into  the  way  of  doing  it  when  he  was  a  boy  arul  went 
for  his  father's  cows.  Retrained  them  fo  that  he'd  juHt 
stand  in  the  pasture  and  whistle,  and  tliey'd  (!()tiie  to 
him.  I  believe  the  first  thing  that  inclined  me  to  him, 
was  his  clear,  huppy  whistle.  I'd  hear  hira  from  our  houw 
away  down  on  the  road,  jogging  along  with  his  curt,  or 
driving  in  his  buggy.  He  says  there  is  no  need  of 
screaming  at  any  animal.    It  only  frightens  and  angem 


I 

I  I 


246 


BEAUTIttJI.  JOE. 


them.  Thoy  will  mind  much  bettor  if  you  HjMjik  <l»'ttrly 
and  distinctly.  IK;  says  there  is  only  one  tliliij,'  an  uni- 
mal  hate.'-  more  than  to  be  shouted  at,  and  thutH  to  bo 
crept  on — to  have  a  person  sneak  up  to  it  rui<l  Htiirtle 
ii.  Joiin  says  many  a  man  is  kicked,  bccauHe  ho 
comes  up  to  his  horse  like  a  thief.  A  htartled  uniinars 
first  instinct  is  to  defend  itself.  A  dog  will  upriu),'  at  yoii, 
and  a  horse  will  let  his  heels  fly.  John  alwuvH  upeukH  or 
wliistles  to  let  the  stock  know  when  he"^  approaching." 
"  Where  is  uncle  this  afternoon?  "  asked  MIhh  Jiaiira. 
"  Oh,  up  to  his  eyes  in  hay.  lie's  even  got  on(!  of  the 
oxen  harnessed  to  a  hay  cart." 

"  I  wonder  whether  its  Duke?"  said  Miss  Laura. 
"  Yes,  it  is.     I  saw  the  star  on  his  forehead,"  replied 
Mro.  Wood. 

"  I  don't  know  when  I  have  lauglnd  at  an)  thing  08 
much  as  I  did  at  him  the  other  day,"  said  Miw  Laura. 
"Uncle  asked  me  if  I  had  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing  08 
a  jealous  ox,  and  I  said  no.  He  said,  '  Cojne  to  tint  barn- 
yard, and  I'll  show  you  one.'  Tl)e  oxen  wen;  both  tlicro, 
Duke  with  his  broad  face,  and  Brigiit  so  much  Hiiarjicr 
and  more  inteliigeut  looking.  Duke  was  drinking  at  the 
trough  there,  and  uncle  said:  'Just  look  at  him,  Ixn't  ho 
a  great,  fat,  self-satisfied  creature,  and  dooHii't  he  lo(»k 
as  if  he  thought  the  world  owed  him  a  living,  and  he 
ought  to  gi't  it?'  Then  he  got  the  card  and  wont  up  to 
Bright,  and  began  scratching  liim.  Duke  lifted  liin  iu-ad 
from  the  trou'jh,  and  stared  at  uncle,  who  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  him  b.it  went  on  cariiu,'  Bright,  and  Ht.oking 
and  petting  him.  Duke  looked  so  angry.  He  left  the 
trou<rh,  and  with  the  water  dripping  from  his  lipn,  went 
up  to  uncle,  and  gave  him  a  push  wi^h  hi»  horns.  Still 
uncle  took  no  notice,  and  Duke  almost  pushed  him  over. 


A   JEALOUS   OX. 


247 


Then  uncle  loft  off  pettin;^  Bright,  and  turnc<l  to  him. 
He  said  Duke  would  have  treated  him  roui^hly,  if  he 
hadn't.  I  never  saw  a  creature  look  tus  satisfied  a.s  Duke 
did,  when  uncle  bej^an  to  card  him.  Uriglit  didn't  secra 
to  care,  and  only  gazed  calmly  at  them." 

"  I've  seen  Duke  do  that  aL,'ain  and  ai:jain,"  said  Mrs. 
Wood.  "  He's  tlie  most  jealous  animal  that  we  have,  and 
it  makes  him  perfectly  miserable  to  have  your  uncle  })ay 
attention  to  any  animal  but  him.  What  queer  creatures 
these  dumb  brutes  are.  Tluy're  pretty  mucli  like  us  in 
most  ways.  They're  jealous  and  resentful,  and  they  can 
love  or  hate  equally  well — and  forgive  too  for  that  mat- 
ter ;  and  suffer — how  they  can  suffer,  and  so  patiently 
too.  Where  is  the  human  being  that  would  put  up  with 
the  tortures  that  animals  enilure  and  yet  come  out  so 
patient  ?  " 

"Nowhere,"  sa.  .  Miss  Laura,  in  a  low  voice;  "we 
couldn't  do  it." 

"  And  there  doesn't  seen)  to  be  an  aniuial,"  yira.  Wood 
went  on,  "  no  matter  how  ugly  and  repulsive  it  is,  but 
what  has  some  lovable  qualities.  1  have  just  been  read- 
ing about  some  sewer  rats,  Louise  Michel's  rats " 

••  Who  is  she?"  asked  Mi.ss  Laura. 

"A  celebrated  Frenchwonian,  my  dear  child,  'the 
priestess  of  pity  and  vengence,'  Mr  Stead  calls  her.  You 
are  too  young  to  know  about  her,  but  I  remember  read- 
ing of  her  in  1872,  during  the  Comnnine  troubles  in 
France.  She  is  an  anarchist,  and  she  us"d  to  wear  a  uni- 
form, and  shoulder  a  rifle,  and  help  to  l)uild  barriaides. 
She  was  arrested  and  sent  as  a  convict  to  one  of  the  French 
penal  colonies.  She  has  a  most  wonderful  love  for  animals 
in  her  heart,  and  when  she  went  home  she  took  four  cats 
with  her.     She  was  put  into  prison  again  in  France  and 


248 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


took  the  cats  with  her.  Rata  came  ahout  her  cell  and 
she  petted  them  and  taught  her  cate  to  be  kind  to  them. 
Before  she  got  the  cats  thoroughly  drilled  one  of  thena 
bit  a  rat's  paw.  Louise  nursed  the  rat  till  it  got  well, 
then  let  it  down  by  a  string  from  her  window.  It  went 
back  to  itft  sewer,  and,  I  suppose,  told  the  other  rats  how 
kind  Louise  had  been  to  it,  for  after  that  they  came  to 
her  cell  without  fear.  Mother  rats  brought  their  young 
ones  and  placed  them  at  her  feet,  as  if  to  ask  her  protec- 
tion for  them.  The  most  remarkable  thing  about  them 
was  the,r  affection  for  each  other.  Young  rats  would 
chew  th«i  crusts  tlirown  to  old  toothless  rats,  so  tliat  tlicy 
might  more  t- cwily  eat  them,  and  if  a  young  rat  dared  help 
itself  before  an  old  one,  tlie  others  punished  it." 

"That  sounds  very  interesting,  auntie,"  said  Miss 
Laura.    "  Where  did  you  read  it?  " 

"  I  have  just  got  the  magazine,"  said  Mrs.  Wood , 
"you  shall  have  it  iis  soon  as  you  come  into  the  house." 

"  I  love  to  be  with  you,  dear  auntie,"  said  Miss  Laura, 
putting  her  arm  nllectionately  around  her,  as  they  stood  in 
the  doorway ;  "  because  you  understand  rae  when  I  talk 
about  animals.  I  can't  explain  it,"  went  on  my  dear  young 
mistress,  laying  her  hand  on  her  heart,  "  the  feeling  I 
have  here  I'or  them.  I  just  love  a  dumb  creature,  and  I 
want  to  stop  and  talk  to  every  one  I  see.  Sometimes  I 
worry  poor  Bessie  Drury,  and  I  am  so  sorry,  but  I  can't 
help  it.    She  says,  '  What  makes  you  so  silly,  Laura? '  " 

Miss  Laura  was  standing  just  where  the  sunlight  shone 
through  her  light-brown  hair,  and  made  her  face  all  in  a 
glow.  I  thought  she  looked  more  beautiful  than  I  had 
had  ever  seen  her  before,  and  I  think  Mrs.  Wood  thought 
tho  same.  She  turned  around  and  put  both  hands  on 
Miss  Laura's  shoulders.    "  Laura,"  she  said,  earnestly. 


A    JEALOUS  OX. 


'249 


"  there  are  enough  cold  hearts  in  the  world.  Don't  you 
ever  stifle  a  warm  or  tender  ft'eling  toward  a  dunii)  crea- 
ture. That  is  your  chief  attraction,  my  child  ;  your  love  f  jr 
ever}"thing  that  breathes  and  moves.  Tear  out  ihe  selfish- 
ness from  your  heart,  if  there  is  any  there,  out  let  the  love 
and  pity  stay.  And  now  let  me  talk  a  little  more  to  you 
about  the  cows.  I  want  to  interest  you  in  dairy  matters. 
This  stable  is  new  since  you  were  here,  and  we've  made  a 
number  of  improvements.  Do  you  see  those  bits  of  r<jck 
salt  in  each  stall?  They  are  for  the  cows  to  lick  when- 
ever they  want  to.  Now,  come  here,  and  I'll  show  you 
what  we  call  '  The  Black  Hole.'  " 

It  was  a  tiny  stable  off  the  main  one,  and  it  was  very 
dark  and  cool.  "  Is  this  a  place  of  punishment?  "  asked 
Miss  Laura,  in  surprise. 

Mra.  Wood  laughed  heartily.  "  No,  no ;  a  place  of 
pleasure.  Sometimes  when  the  flies  are  very  bad  and  the 
cows  are  brought  into  the  yard  to  be  milked  and  a  fresh 
Bwarra  settles  on  them,  they  are  nearly  frantic;  and 
though  they  are  the  best  cows  in  New  Hampshire,  they 
will  kick  a  little.  When  they  do,  those  that  are  the  worst 
are  brought  in  here  to  be  milked  where  there  are  no  flies. 
The  others  have  big  strips  of  cotton  laid  over  their  backs 
and  tied  under  them,  and  the  men  brush  their  legs  with 
tansy  tea,  or  water  with  a  little  carbolic  acid  in  it.  That 
keeps  the  flies  away,  and  the  cows  know  just  as  well  that 
it  is  done  for  their  comfort,  and  stand  quietly  till  the 
milking  is  over.  I  must  ask  John  to  have  their  night- 
dresses put  on  sometime  for  you  to  see.  Harry  calls 
them  '  sheeted  ghosts,'  and  they  do  look  queer  enough 
standing  all  round  the  barnyard  robed  in  white." 


ifmmmm 


I    i 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 


IN   THE   COW   STABLE. 


|SN'T  it  a  ytran-^e  thing,''  said  Miss  Laura,  "that 
a  little  thing  like  a  fly,  can  cause  so  much 
annoyauce  to  animals  as  well  as  to  people? 
Sometimes  when  I  am  trying  to  get  more  sleep  in  the 
morning,  their  little  feet  tickle  me  so  tliat  I  am  nearly 
frantic  and  have  to  fly  uut  of  bed." 

"You  sliall  have  some  netting  to  put  over  your  bed," 
said  Mrs.  Wood  ;  "  but  suppose,  Laura,  you  had  no  hands 
to  brush  away  the  flies.  Suppose  your  whole  body  was 
covered  with  them,  and  you  were  tied  up  somewhere  and 
could  not  get  loose.  I  can't  imagine  more  exquisite  tor- 
ture myself.  Last  summer,  the  flies  here  wore  dreadful. 
It  seems  to  me  that  they  are  getting  worse  and  worse 
every  year,  and  worry  the  animals  more.  I  believe  it's 
because  the  birds  are  getting  thinned  out  all  over  the 
country.  Tiiere  are  not  enough  of  tiicm  to  catch  the 
flies.  John  says  that  the  next  improvements  we  make 
on  the  farm  are  to  bo  wire  gauze  at  all  the  stable  wi/i- 
dows  and  screen  doors  to  keep  the  little  pests  from  the 
horses  and  cattle. 

"  One  afternoon  last  summer,  Mr.  Maxwell's  mother 
came  for  me  tf)  go  for  a  drive  with  her.     The  heat  was  in- 
tense, and  when  we  got  down  by  the  river,  she  proposed 
getting  out  of  the  phaeton,  and  sitting  under  the  trees,  to 
250 


IN   THE  CX)W   STABLE. 


251 


see  if  it  wouUl  he  any  cooler.  She  was  drivini^  a  horse 
that  she  had  got  from  the  hotel  in  the  vilitti,'e,  a  roan 
horse  that  was  clipped,  and  clicck-nuicd,  and  had  hisitjiil 
docked.  I  woiilfhi't  drive  l)ehind  a  taillc-ss  horse  now. 
Then,  I  wasn't  so  particular.  However,  I  made  her  un- 
fasten the  check-rein  before  I'd  avt  foot  in  the  carriaj^e. 
Well,  I  thought  that  horse  would  go  mad.  He'd  tremble 
and  shiver,  and  look  so  pitifully  at  us.  The  flies  were 
nearly  eating  him  up.  Tlien  he'd  start  a  little.  Mrs. 
Ma.xwell  had  a  weigiit  at  his  head  to  hold  him,  but  he 
could  ea.<»ily  have  dragged  that.  He  was  a  good-di.sposi- 
tioned  horse,  and  he  didn't  want  to  run  away,  but  h*  could 
not  stand  still.  1  soon  jumped  up  and  slapped  him,  and 
rubbed  him  till  my  hand.s  were  dripping  wet.  The  poor 
brute  was  sc  grateful,  and  would  keep  touching  my  arm 
with  his  nose.  Mrs.  Maxwell  sat  under  the  trees  fanning 
herself  and  laughing  at  mo,  but  I  didn't  care.  How  could 
I  enjoy  myself  with  a  dumb  creature  writhing  in  pain  bo- 
fore  me  ? 

"  A  docked  horse  can  neither  eat  nor  sleep  comfortably 
in  the  fly  season.  In  one  of  our  New  Engand  villages 
they  have  a  sign  up,  '  Horses  taken  in  to  grass.  Long 
tails,  one  dollar  and  fifty  cents.  Short  tails,  one  dollar.' 
And  it  just  means  that  the  short-tailed  ones  are  taken 
cheaper,  because  they  are  S(j  bothered  l)y  the  flies  that 
they  can't  eat  much,  while  the  long-tailed  ones  are  al)le  to 
brush  them  away,  and  eat  in  peace.  I  read  the  other  day 
of  a  Buflalo  coal  dealer's  horse  that  was  in  such  an  agony 
through  flies,  that  he  committed  suicide.  You  know  ani- 
mals will  do  that.  I've  read  of  horses  and  dogs  drowning 
themselves.  This  horse  had  been  clipped,  and  his  tail  was 
docked,  and  he  was  turned  out  to  graze.  The  flics  stung 
him  till  h<i  w:is  nearly  crazy.     He  ran  up  to  a  picket  fence, 


252 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


a-. 


and  sprang        in 
iug  no  effort       ./,  ; 
said  it  was  a  ci     • 

"  I  would  like  ^j  have 


.•<imrp  spikes,,  There  he  hunj:^,  mak- 
n.  Some  men  saw  him,  and  they 
■  'f  suicide. 


power  to  take  every  man 


who  cuts  off  a  horse's  tail,  auo.  tie  his  hands,  and  turn  him 
out  in  a  field  in  the  hot  sun,  with  little  clothing  on,  and 
plenty  of  flies  about.  Then  we  would  see  if  he  wouldn't 
sympathize  with  the  poor  dumb  beast.  It's  the  most 
senseless  thing  in  the  world,  this  docking  fashion.  They've 
a  few  flimsy  arguments  about  a  horse  with  a  docked  tail 
being  stronger-backed,  like  a  short-tailed  sheep,  but  I 
don't  believe  a  word  of  it.  The  horse  was  made  strong 
enough  to  do  the  work  he's  got  to  do,  and  man  can't  im- 
prove on  him.  Docking  is  a  cruel,  wicked  thing.  Now, 
there's  a  ghost  of  an  argument  in  favor  of  check-reins,  on 
certain  occasions.  A  fiery,  young  horse  can't  run  away, 
with  an  overdrawn  check,  and  in  speeding  horses  a  tight 
check-rein  will  make  them  hold  their  heads  up,  and  keep 
them  from  choking.  But  I  don't  believe  in  raising  colts 
in  a  way  to  make  them  fiery,  and  I  wish  there  wasn't  a 
race  horse  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  so  if  it  depended  on 
me,  every  kind  of  check-rein  wi.uld  go.  It's  a  pity  we 
women  can't  vote,  Jiaura.  Wed  do  away  with  a  good 
many  abuses." 

Miss  Laura  smiled,  but  it  was  a  very  faint,  almost  an 
unhappy  smile,  and  Mrs.  Wood  said  hastily,  "  Let  us  talk 
about  something  else.  Did  you  ever  hear  that  cows  will 
give  less  milk  on  a  dark  day  than  on  a  bright  one  ?  " 

"  No,  I  never  did,'  said  Miss  Laura. 

"  Well,  they  do.  They  are  most  sensitive  animals. 
One  finds  out  all  manners  of  curious  things  about  ani- 
mals if  he  makes  a  study  of  them.  Cows  are  wonderful 
creatures,  I  think,  and  so  grateful  for  good  usage  that 


IN  THE  OOW  STABLE. 


253 


they  return  every  scrap  of  care  given  them,  with  interest. 
Have  you  ever  heanl  aiiytlung  about  dehorning,  Laura?  " 

"  Not  much,  auutie.     Does  uncle  approve  of  it  ? " 

"  No  indeed.  He'd  just  as  soon  think  of  cutting  their 
tails  off,  as  of  dehorning  them.  He  says  he  guesses  the 
Creator  knew  how  to  make  a  cow  bettor  than  he  does. 
Sometimes  I  tell  John  that  his  argument  doesn't  hold 
good,  for  man  in  some  ways  can  improve  on  nature.  In 
the  natural  course  of  things,  a  cow  would  be  feeding 
her  calf  for  half  a  year,  but  we  take  it  away  from  her, 
ajid  raise  it  as  well  as  she  could  and  get  an  extra  quan- 
tity of  milk  from  her  in  addition.  I  don't  know  what  to 
think  myself  about  dehorning.  Mr.  Windham's  cattle 
are  all  polled,  and  he  haji  an  open  space  in  his  barn  for 
them,  instead  of  keeping  them  in  stalls,  and  he  says 
they're  more  comfortable  and  not  so  confined.  I  suppose 
in  sending  cattle  to  sea,  it's  r?cessary  to  take  their  horna 
off,  but  when  they're  going  to  be  turned  out  to  grass,  it  seems 
like  mutilating  them.  Our  cows  couldn't  keep  the  doga 
away  from  the  sheep  if  they  didn't  have  their  horna. 
Their  horns  are  their  means  of  defense." 

"Do  your  cattle  stand  in  these  stalls  all  winter?" 
asked  Miss  Laura. 

"Oh,  yes,  except  when  they're  turned  out  in  the  barn- 
yard, and  then  John  usually  has  to  send  a  man  to  keep 
them  moving  or  they'd  take  cold.  Sometimes  on  very 
fine  days  they  get  out  all  day.  You  know  cows  aren't 
like  horses.  John  says  they're  like  great  milk  machines. 
You've  got  to  keep  them  quiet,  only  exercising  enough 
to  keep  them  in  health.  If  a  cow  is  hurried  or  worried, 
or  chilled  or  heated,  it  stops  her  milk  yield.  And  bad 
usage  poisons  it.  John  says  you  can't  take  a  stick  and 
strike  a  cow  across  the  back,  without  her  milk  being  that 


264 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


much  worse,  and  as  for  rlrlnkinj;  the  milk  that  cornea 
from  a  cow  that  isn't  kept  (rlran,  you'd  hotter  throw  it 
away  and  drink  water.  When  I  was  in  Chieai.'o,  my 
aister-in-hiw  kepteomplainin;^  to  her  milkman  ahont  what 
siie  called  the  '  cowy  '  araell  to  her  milk.  '  It's  the  animal 
odor,  ma'am,'  he  said,  '  and  it  can't  he  helped.  All  milk 
smells  like  that.'  '  It's  dirt,'  I  said,  wlien  she  asked  my 
opinion  ahont  it.  '  I'll  wai,'er  my  hest  l)onnet  that  that 
man's  cows  are  kept  dirty.  Their  skins  are  plastered  np 
with  filth,  and  as  the  poison  in  tliem  can't  escape  that 
wav,  it's  eomint;  out  throuirh  ttie  milk,  and  vou're  heloinz 
to  dispose  of  it.'  She  was  astonished  to  hear  this,  and 
she  <,'ot  her  milkman's  addrt'ss.  and  one  day  dropped  in 
upon  him.  She  said  that  his  cows  were  standing  in  a 
stahle  that  was  comparatively  clean,  hut  that  their  bodies 
were  in  just  the  state  that  I  described  them  as  living  in. 
She  advised  the  man  to  card  and  brush  his  cows  every 
day,  and  said  that  he  need  bring  her  no  more  milk, 

"That  shows  how  you  city  people  are  imposed  upon 
with  regard  to  your  milk.  I  should  think  you'd  be  poi- 
soned with  the  treatment  your  cows  receive;  and  even 
when  your  milk  i:  examined  you  can't  tell  whether  it  is 
pure  or  not.  In  New  York  the  law  only  requires  thir- 
teen per  cent,  of  solids  in  milk.  That's  absurd,  for  you 
can  feed  a  cow  on  swill  and  still  get  fourteen  per  cent,  of 
solids  in  it.     Oh !  you  city  people  are  queer." 

Miss  Laura  laughed  heartily.  "  What  a  preji  dice  you 
have  against  large  towns,  auntie." 

"  Yos,  I  have,"  said  .Mrs.  Wood,  honestly.  "  I  often 
wish  we  could  break  up  a  few  of  our  cities,  and  scatter 
the  people  through  the  country.  Look  at  the  lovely 
farms  all  about  here,  some  of  thera  with  only  an  old  man 
and  woman  on  them.     The  bovs  are  off  to  the  cities,  slav- 


IN    THE  COW   STAHI.K. 


250 


ing  in  storca  and  offices,  and  growinjj  pale  and  sickly.  It 
Would  liuve  bmkctj  my  heart  if  Hurry  had  taken  to  city 
ways.  I  had  a  plain  talk  with  your  iiiiclo  when  I  mar- 
ried hiin,  and  .-aid,  'Now  n»y  hoy's  only  a  haby,  and  I 
want  him  t<J  he  hroui^ht  np  so  that  he  will  love  country 
life.     How  are  we  f^oing  to  manage  it?' 

"  Your  uncle  looked  at  me  with  a  sly  twinkle  in  hia  eye, 
and  said  I  was  a  pretty  fair  specimen  of  a  country  girl, 
BupjKjse  we  brought  up  Harry  the  way  I'd  l>een  brought 
up.  I  knew  he  w;is  oidy  jokine.  yet  I  got  quite  excited. 
'Yes,'  I  said,  '  Do  as  my  father  and  mother  did.  Have  a 
farm  about  twice  as  large  as  y()U  can  manage.  Don't 
keep  a  hired  man.  Get  up  at  daylight  and  slave  till 
dark.  Never  take  a  holiday.  Have  the  girls  do  the 
housework,  and  take  care  of  the  hens,  and  help  pick  the 
fruit,  and  make  the  boys  tend  the  colta  and  the  calves, 
and  put  all  the  money  they  make  in  the  bank.  Don't 
take  any  papers,  for  they  would  waste  their  time  reading 
them,  and  it's  too  far  to  go  to  the  post  office  oftencr  than 
once  a  week  ;  and  ' — but,  I  don't  remember  the  rest  of 
what  I  said.  Anyway  your  uncle  burst  into  a  roar  of 
laughter.  *  Hattie,'  he  said,  '  my  farm's  too  big.  I'm 
going  to  sell  some  of  it  and  enjoy  myself  a  little  more.* 
That  very  week  he  sold  fifty  acres,  and  he  hired  an  extra 
man,  and  got  me  a  good  girl,  and  twice  a  week  he  left  his 
work  in  the  afternoon,  and  took  me  for  a  drive.  Harry 
held  the  reins  in  his  tiny  fingers,  and  John  told  him  that 
Dolly,  the  old  mare  we  wore  driving,  should  be  called 
his,  and  the  very  next  horse  he  bought  should  be  called 
his  too,  and  he  should  name  it  and  have  it  for  his  own  ; 
and  he  would  give  him  five  sheep,  and  he  should  have 
his  own  bank  book,  and  keep  his  accounts ;  and  Harry 
understood,  mere  baby  though  he  waa,  and  from  that  day 


1 


i  IV 


256 


nEAUTIFUI.  JOE. 


I 


ho  loved  Jfthn  tm  \m  own  father.  If  ray  father  had  had 
tlio  windoin  that  Joliu  has,  hifl  hoys  wouldn't  be  tlio  one  a 
poor  lawyer  and  the  other  a  poor  doctor  in  two  different 
cities;  and  our  farm  wouldn't  he  in  the  hands  of  dtruu- 
gers.  It  makes  me  sick  to  go  there.  I  think  of  my  poor 
mother  lying  with  her  tired  hands  crossed  out  in  the 
churchyard,  and  the  boys  so  far  away,  and  my  father 
always  hurrying  and  driving  us — I  can  tell  you,  Laura, 
the  thing  cuts  both  ways.  It  isn't  all  the  fault  of  tho 
boys  that  they  leave  the  country." 

Mrs.  Wood  waa  silent  for  a  little  while  after  she  made 
this  long  speech,  and  Miss  Laura  said  nothing.  I  took  a 
turn  or  two  up  and  down  the  stable,  thinking  of  many 
things.  No  matter  how  happy  human  beings  seem  to  be, 
they  always  have  something  to  worry  them.  I  was  sorry 
for  Mn.  Wood,  for  her  face  had  lost  tho  happy  look  it 
usually  wore.  However,  she  soon  forgot  her  trouble, 
and  said : 

"Now  I  must  go  and  get  the  tea.  This  is  Adftle'a 
afternoon  out." 

"  I'll  come  too,"  said  Miss  Laura,  "  for  I  promised  her 
I'd  make  the  biscuits  for  tea  this  evening  and  let  you 
rest."  They  both  sauntered  slowly  down  the  plank  walk 
to  the  house  and  I  followed  them. 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 


OUK    IIKTIKN    IKJMK. 


|N  October,  the  most  heautifiil  of  all  the  months, 
we  were  ohli^'od  to  go  buck  to  Fairi)ort.  Miaa 
Laura  could  not  bear  to  leave  the  farm,  and 
her  face  got  very  sorrowful  wlien  any  one  spoke  of  her 
going  away.  Still,  she  had  gotten  well  and  strong,  and 
was  as  brown  as  a  berry,  and  she  said  that  she  knew  she 
ought  to  go  home,  and  get  back  to  her  lessons. 

Mr.  Wood  called  October  the  golden  month.  Every- 
thing was  quiet  and  still,  and  at  night  nnd  in  the  morn- 
ings  the  sun  had  a  yellow,  misty  look.  The  trees  in  the 
orchard  were  loaded  with  fruit,  and  some  of  the  leaves 
were  floating  down,  making  a  sofl  covering  on  the 
ground. 

In  the  gardeii  there  were  a  great  many  flowers  in 
bloom,  in  flaming  red  and  yellow  colors.  Miss  Laura 
gathered  bunches  of  them  every  day  to  put  in  the  parlor. 
One  day  when  she  wad  arranging  them,  she  said,  regret- 
fully, "  They  will  soon  be  gone.  I  wish  it  could  always 
be  summer." 

"  You  would  get  tired  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Harry,  who  had 
come  up  softly  beaind  her.  "  There's  only  on*-  place 
where  we  could  stand  perpetual  summer,  and  ^at's  in 
heaven." 

267 


i 


I  i 


258 


BF.AUTIFUL   JOE. 


"  Do  you  suppose  that  it  will  always  be  summer  there  ?  " 
said  Miss  ijauru,  turniiiL;  aruii.id,  umi  looking  at  liiiu. 

"I  don't  know.  1  nuagiuc  it  will  he,  but  1  don't  Jhiuk 
anybody  knows  mucli  about  it.     We've  got  to  wait." 

Misa  Laura's  eyes  fell  on  uie.  "  Harry,"  she  said,  "  do 
you  think  that  dumb  animals  will  go  to  heaven?" 

"  I  shall  have  to  say  again,  I  don't  know,"  he  replied. 
"Some  people  hold  that  they  do.  In  a  Michigan  paper, 
the  other  day,  I  came  across  one  writer's  opinion  on  the 
subject.  He  says  that  among  the  best  people  of  all  ages 
have  been  some  who  believed  in  the  future  life  of  animals. 
Homer  and  the  later  Greeks,  some  of  tlie  Romans  and 
early  Christians  held  thi- view — the  L-wt  believing  that  God 
Bent  angels  in  the  shape  of  birds  to  comfort  sufferers  for  the 
faith.  St.  Francis  called  the  birds  and  beasts  his  brothers. 
Dr.  Johnson  believed  ri  a  future  life  for  animals,  as  also  did 
Wordsworth,  Shelley,  Coleridge,  Jeremy  Taylor,  Agassiz, 
Lamartine,  and  many  Christian  scholars.  It  seems  as  if 
they  ought  to  have  some  compensation  for  their  terrible 
sufibrings  in  this  world.  Then  to  go  to  heaven,  unimals 
^ould  only  have  to  take  up  the  thread  of  their  lives  here. 
Man  is  a  god  to  the  lower  creation.  Joe  worships  you, 
much  as  you  worship  your  Maker.  Dumb  animals  live  in 
and  for  their  masters.  Tliev  hang  on  our  words  and 
looks,  and  are  dependent  on  us  in  almost  everv  way.  For 
my  own  part,  and  looking  at  it  from  an  eaithly  po'nt 
of  view,  I  wish  with  all  my  heart  that  we  may  find  our 
dumb  friends  hi  paradise." 

'*  And  in  the  Bible,"  said  Mis.s  Laura,  "  animals  are 
oflen  si)oken  of.  Tlie  dove  and  tlie  raven,  the  wolf  and 
the  Iamb,  and  the  leopard,  and  the  cattle  that  God  says 
are  his,  and  the  little  sparrow  that  can't  fall  to  the  ground 
without  our  Father's  knowing  it." 


f- 


OUR   RETURN    HOME. 


259 


there?" 
,  liini, 

ait." 
laid,  "  do 

3  replied, 
in  paper, 
D  ou  the 
fall  ages 
'  animals, 
[uaiis  and 
that  God 
era  for  the 
I  brothers. 
18  also  did 
L  Agassiz, 
enis  as  if 
terrible 
iinimala 
ives  here, 
hips  you, 
als  live  in 
.)rds  and 
way.  For 
hly  po'nt 
find  our 

liinals  are 
wolf  and 
God  says 
:e  ground 


"  Still,  thefo's  nothing  definite  about  their  itiunortiil- 
ity,"  said  Mr.  Harry.  "  However,  we've  p)t  noiiiiu),'  to 
do  with  that.  If  it's  right  for  them  to  be  in  heaven,  wijII 
find  them  there.  All  we  have  to  do  now  irt  to  di'jil  with 
the  present,  and  the  Bible  plainly  telU  iis  that  'a  riglit* 
eous  man  regardeth  the  life  of  his  l)i.'ast.'  " 

"I  think  I  would  l)e  happier  in  lu!aveii  if  <lcar 
old  Joe  were  there,"  si'id  Miss  Laura,  looking  wiHtfiilly 
at  me.  "  He  has  been  such  a  good  dog.  iJuiit  think  how 
he  has  loved  and  protected  me.  I  think  I  hIiouIiI  bo 
lonelv  without  him." 

"  That  reminds  me  of  some  poetry,  or  ratlierdoggen;)," 
said  Mr.  Harry,  "that  I  cutout  of  a  new.spapcr  for  y()U 
yesterday,"  and  he  drew  from  his  pocket  u  iiulo  hlip  of 
paper,  and  read  this : 

"Do  doggies  gang  to  heaven,  Dud? 
Will  oor  uuld  Donald  Kung? 
For  iioo  to  tiik'  him,  faither  wi'  uh, 
Wad  be  inaist  awfu'  wrang. " 

There  was  a  number  of  other  verses,  telling  how  many 
kind  things  old  Donald  the  dag  had  done  for  liitt  imwter'ii 
family,  and  then  it  closed  with  these  lines: 

"Witlioot  are  dogs.     Eh,  faither,  man, 
'TwDuld  be  an  awt'u'  sin 
To  leave  oor  faitlifu'  doggie  there, 
Hv's  certain  to  win  in. 

"  Oor  Donald's  no  like  ithor  dogs, 
lie' 11  nn  be  lockit  oot. 
If  Donald's  no  let  into  heaven, 
I'll  no  gang  there  one  foot." 

"  My  sentiments  exactly,"  said  a  merry  \'(i'u<a\  bcliiiid 
Miss  Laura  ain!  Mr.  Harry,  and  looking  uptliey  «nw  Mr. 
Maxwell.  He  was  liohiing  out  one  hand  to  them,  inid  in 
the  other  kept  back  a  biisket  of  large  peara  that  .Mr.  1 1  urry 


260 


BEAUTIFU  I   JOE. 


I^ii 


f^ 


promptly  took  from  liim,  and  oflercfl  Mm  Liiiira.  "  I've 
been  dependent  upon  animals  for  tlie  iiioHt  part  of  my 
comfort  in  this  life,"  said  Mr.  Maxwfli,  "  and  1  uiia'n't 
be  happy  without  them  in  lieaven,  I  don't  see  how  yoii 
would  get  on  without  Joe,  Miss  Morris,  and  1  want  my 
birds,  and  my  snake,  and  my  horse — how  can  I  live  with- 
out them  ?     They're  almost  all  mv  life  here." 

"  If  some  animals  go  to  heaven  and  not  otIiurH,  I  think 
that  the  dog  has  the  liri't claim,"  said  Miss  Laura.  "  lie's 
the  friend  of  man — ths  oldest  and  best.  Have  you  ever 
heard  the  legend  about  him  and  Adam  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Maxwell. 

"  Well,  when  Adam  was  turned  out  of  paradise,  all  the 
animals  shunned  him,  and  he  sat  bitterly  wecpini;  with 
his  head  between  his  hands,  when  he  felt  tliu  soft  tongue 
of  some  creature  gently  touching  him.  He  took  his 
hands  from  his  face,  and  there  wxs  a  dog  tliat  hud  flcpo- 
rated  himself  from  all  the  other  animals,  and  wiw  trying 
to  comfort  him.  He  became  the  chosen  friend  and  com- 
panion of  Adam,  and  allerward  of  all  men," 

"There  is  another  legend,"  said  Mr.  Harry,  "  al)out 
our  Saviour  and  a  dog.     Have  you  ever  heard  it7  " 

"We'll  tell  }ou  that  later,"  said  Mr.  Maxwell,  "when 
we  know  what  it  ;?." 

Mr.  Harry  showed  his  white  teeth  in  an  amuHod  Hmilo, 
and  began :  "  Once  upc  a  time  our  Ijou'i  wiw  going 
through  a  town  with  his  disciples.  A  dead  dog  lay  by 
the  wayside,  and  every  one  tliat  passed  along  flung  8(jme 
offensive  epithet  at  him.  Eastern  dogs  are  not  like  our 
dogs,  and  seemingly  there  was  nothing  goo<l  about  thiH 
loathsome  creature,  but  as  our  Saviour  went  by,  he  (tai'l, 
gently, '  Pearls  cannot  equal  the  whiteness  of  IiIh  te<!th.'  " 

"  What  was  the  name  of  that  old  fellow,"  itaid  Mr. 


OUR   UETURX    HOME. 


2GI 


about 

t» 

'  when 

I  KTIlilo, 

liiy  by 

\r    HdtlU! 

iku  our 
ut  thin 
ic  mill, 
ti'otb.' " 
Aid  Mr. 


Maxwell,  abruptly,  "  wiio  had  a  beautiful  swau  that  came 
every  <lay  for  tiftcea  years,  to  l)ury  its  head  iu  his  bosom 
and  feed  from  hid  hand,  and  would  go  nt?ar  uo  other 
humau  being?  " 

"Saint  Hugh,  of  Lincoln.  We  heard  about  hira  at 
the  Band  of  Mercy  the  other  day,"  .said  Mi.-sS  Laura. 

"  I  should  tliinix  that  he  would  have  wanted  to  have 
that  swan  in  heaven  with  him,"  said  Mr.  Maxwell. 
"  What  a  beautiful  creature  it  must  have  been.  Speaking 
about  animals  going  to  heaven,  I  dare  say  some  of  them 
would  object  to  going,  on  account  of  the  company  that 
they  would  meet  there.  Think  of  the  dog  kicked  to 
death  by  his  master,  the  horse  driven  into  his  grave,  the 
thousands  of  cattle  starved  to  death  on  tlie  plains — Will 
thev  want  to  meet  their  owners  in  heaven  ?  " 

"According  to  my  reckoning,  their  owners  won't  be 
there,"  said  Mr.  H'arry.  "  I  firndv  believe  that  the  Lord 
will  punish  every  man  or  woman  who  ill-treats  a  dumb 
creature,  just  Jis  surely  as  he  will  punish  those  who  ill- 
treat  their  fellow-creatures.  If  a  man's  life  has  been  a 
long  series  of  cruelty  to  dumb  animals,  do  you  suppose 
that  he  would  enjoy  himself  in  heaven,  which  will  be  full 
of  kindness  to  every  one  ?  Not  he,  he'd  rather  be  in  the 
other  place,  and  there  he'll  go,  I  fully  believe." 

"When  you've  quite  disposed  of  all  your  fellow-crea- 
tures and  the  dumb  creation,  Harry,  perljaps  you  will  con- 
descend to  go  out  in  the  orchard,  and  see  how  vour 
father  is  getting  on  with  picking  the  apples,"  said  Mrs. 
Wood,  joining  Mi.<3  Laura  and  the  two  young  men,  her 
eyes  twinkling  and  sparkling  with  amusement. 

"The  apples  will  ktcp,  mother,"  said  ^^r.  Harry,  i»ut- 
ting  his  arm  arouiul  her.  "  I  jii.st  came  in  for  a  moment 
to  get  Laura,     Come,  Ma.\well,  we'll  all  go." 


262 


BEAUTIFUL   JOE. 


"  And  not  another  word  about  animals,"  Mrs.  Wood 
called  after  them.  "  Laura  will  go  crazy  some  day, 
through  thinking  of  their  sufferings,  if  some  one  doesn't 
do  something  to  stop  her." 

Miss  Laura  turned  around  suddenly.  "Dear  Aunt 
Hattie,"  she  said,  "  you  must  not  say  that.  I  am  a 
coward,  I  know,  about  hearing  of  animals'  pains,  but  I 
must  get  over  it.  I  want  to  know  how  they  suffer.  I 
ought  to  know,  for  when  I  get  to  be  a  woman,  I  am  go- 
ing to  d  )  all  I  can  to  help  them." 

"  And  I'll  join  you,"  said  Mr.  Maxwell,  stretching  out 
his  hand  to  Miss  Laura.  She  did  no'„  smile,  but  looking 
very  earnestly  at  him,  she  held  it  clasped  in  her  own. 
"  You  will  help  me  care  for  them,  will  you  ?  "  she  8f(.v". 

"  Yes,  I  promise,"  he  said,  gravely.  "  I'll  give  myseK  to 
the  service  of  dumb  animals,  if  vou  ■' Hi." 

"And  I  too,"  said  Mr.  Harry.,  In  hb  f'eep  voice,  laying 
bis  hand  across  theiro.  Mrs.  SViwxi  ^.ood  looking  at 
their  three  fresh,  eager,  young  faces,  with  tears  in  her  eyes. 
Just  as  they  all  stood  silently  for  an  instant,  the  old  vil- 
lage clergyman  came  into  the  room  from  the  hall.  lie 
must  have  heard  what  they  said,  for  before  they  could 
move  he  had  laid  his  hands  on  their  three,  brown  heads. 
"  Bless  you,  my  children,"  he  said,  "  God  will  lift  up  the 
light  of  his  countenance  upon  you,  for  you  have  given 
yourselves  to  a  noble  work.  In  serving  dumb  creatures, 
you  are  ennobling  the  human  race." 

Then  he  sat  down  in  a  chair  and  looked  at  them.  He 
was  I  venerable  old  man,  iind  had  long,  white  hair,  and 
the  Wcods  thought  a  great  deal  of  him.  He  had  come  to 
f  jt  Mrs.  Wood  to  r  ake  some  nourishing  dishes  for  a  sick 
vv'  mai  i'l  the  village,  and  while  he  was  talking  to  her. 


f! 


Mi«  Laura  and  the  two 


young 


men  went  out  of  the 


III 


OUR   RETURN    HOMK. 


263 


house.  They  hnrriod  acn)s«s  t\w  vornndn  and  ever  tho 
luwn,  talking  and  laughinir,  and  (■nj()\  in::  tlR-msolvjs  aa 
only  happy  yonng  jH'oplf  can,  and  witli  not  a  trace  of 
tiieir  seriousncjss  of  a  few  moments  bof 'ic  on  their  fact's. 

They  were  goinsr  so  fa.-^t  that  they  ran  rijrht  into  a  tlock 
of  geese  that  were  coming  nj)  the  lane.  They  were  driven 
by  a  little  hoy  calh^d  Tommy,  the  son  of  one  of  Mr. 
Wood's  farm  laljorcrs,  and  they  were  chattering  and 
gabbling,  and  seemed  very  angry.  "  What's  all  tijia 
about?"  said  Mr.  Harry,  stopping  and  looking  at  the 
bov.  "  What's  the  matter  witli  vour  feathered  charges. 
Tommy,  my  lad  ?  " 

"  If  it's  the  geese  you  mean,"  said  the  boy,  half  cry- 
ing and  looking  very  much  put  out,  "  it's  all  them  nx-ty 
potatoes.     Tiiey  won't  keep  away  from  them." 

'' So  the  potatoes  chase  tlie  geese,  do  they,"  said  Mr. 
Maxwell,  teasingly. 

"No,  no,"  said  the  cliild,  pcttislily,  "  Mr.  Wood  he  sets 
'  rae  to  watch  the  geese,  and  they  runs  in  among  the  buck- 
wheat and  the  potatoes,  and  I  tries  to  drive  them  out,  and 
they  doesn't  want  to  come,  and,"  shamefacedly,  "I  has  to 
switch  their  feet,  and  I  hates  to  do  it,  'cause  I'm  a  Band 
of  Mercv  bov." 

"  Tommy,  ray  son,"  said  Mr.  Ma.\well,  solemnly,  "  You 
will  go  right  to  heaven  when  you  die,  and  your  geese 
will  go  with  you." 

"  Hush,  hush,"  said  Mi.-js  Laura;  "don't  tease  him," 
and  putting  her  arm  on  the  child's  shoulder,  she  said, 
"  You  are  a  good  boy,  Tommy,  not  to  want  to  hurt  tho 
geese.     Let  me  see  your  switch,  dear." 

He  showed  her  a  little  stick  he  had  in  hi'^  baud,  and  she 
said,  "  I  don't  think  you  could  hurt  them  much  with  that, 
and  if  they  will  be  naughty  and  steal  the  potatoee,  you 


f 


mr. 


hr4 


!  i 


ill 


tiiii 


H 


264 


BEAUTIFUL  JOB. 


have  to  drive  them  out.  Take  some  of  my  peare  and  eat 
them,  and  you  will  forget  y(  iir  trouble."  The  child  took 
the  fruit,  and  Miss  Laura  and  the  two  young  men  went 
on  their  way,  smiling,  and  looking  over  their  shoulders 
at  Tommy,  who  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  lane,  devour- 
ing his  pears  and  keeping  one  eye  on  the  geese  that  had 
gathered  a  little  iu  front  of  him,  and  were  gabbling 
noisily  and  having  a  kind  of  indignation  meeting,  be- 
cause they  had  been  driven  out  of  the  potato  field. 

Tommy's  father  and  mother  lived  in  a  little  house 
dowu  "oai  tlu^  road.  ^Ir.  ^^'ood  never  liad  his  hired  men 
live  in  his  own  house.  He  had  two  small  houses  for  them 
to  1*76  in,  and  they  weni  requir  J  to  keep  them  as 
neat  1*8  Mr.  Wood's  own  house  was  kept.  He  said  that 
he  didn't  see  why  lie  should  keep  a  boarding  house,  if  he 
was  a  farmer,  nor  why  his  wife  should  wear  herself  out 
waiting  on  .strong,  hearty  lutn,  ihat  had  just  as  soon  take 
care  of  theujselves.  He  wished  to  have  his  own  family 
about  him,  u:i<i  it  was  better  for  his  men  to  have  some 
kind  of  family  life  for  themselves.  If  one  of  his  men 
was  unmarried,  he  boarded  with  the  mai'ried  one,  but 
slept  in  his  own  house. 

On  this  October  day  we  found  Mr.  Wood  hard  at 
work  und'^r  the  fruit  trees.  He  had  a  good  man}-  differ- 
rut  hiiul  1  1  A j  pies.  Enormoui?  red  ones,  and  long,  yellow 
oiiCd  t'iiit  they  called  pippins,  and  little  brown  one.-J,  and 
Binooth-coatod  swv.-ot  ones,  and  bright  red  ones,  and  others, 
more  tliiiii  I  cuuM  mention.  Miss  Laura  often  ])ared  one 
and  cut  <  f  'ttle  I'ts  for  me,  ifor  I  always  wanted  to  eat 
whatever  .    aw  her  eating. 

Just  a  ft  t  days  after  this,  Miss  Laura  and  I  returne<l 
to  Fairport,  and  some  of  Mr.  Wood's  apples  traveled 
along  with  us,  for  he  sent  f.  good  many  to  the  Boston 


OUR    KErrUKN    HOME. 


265 


be- 


market  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wood  came  to  the  ftation  to  !»pe 
U8  off.  Mr.  Harry  coultl  not  coiuc,  for  he  luul  Ut'l  Kivcr- 
dale  the  day  beft)re  to  go  back  to  his  collcj/c.  Mrs. 
Wood  said  that  she  would  be  very  lonely  without  her  two 
young  people,  and  she  kistied  Miss  Laura  over  and  ovei' 
again,  and  made  her  promise  to  come  back  ayuln  the  next 
summer. 

I  was  put  in  a  bo.\  in  the  exprc^is  car,  and  Mr.  Wood 
told  the  agent  that  it'  he  knew  what  wa.s  good  for  him  he 
would  speak  t.)  me  occiuionuliy,  for  I  waa  a  very  knowing 
dog,  and  if  he  didn't  treat  me  well,  I'd  be  apt  to  wri*3 
him  up  in  the  newspapers.  The  agent  laugiied,  and  quite 
often  on  the  way  to  Fairport,  he  came  to  my  box  and 
spoke  kindly  to  me.  So  1  did  not  gei  so  lonely  and 
frightened  its  1  did  on  my  way  t<j  Riverdi'le. 

How  glad  the  Morri-ses  were  to  see  us  coming  back. 
The  boys  had  all  gotten  home  before  us,  and  sucli  a  fuss 
as  they  did  make  over  their  sister.  They  loved  her 
dearly,  and  never  wanted  her  to  be  hjng  away  from  them. 
I  wiis  rubbed  and  stroked,  and  had  to  run  about  offering 
my  paw  to  every  one.  Jim  and  little  Hilly  licked  my 
face,  and  Bella  croaked  out,  "  Glad  to  see  you,  Joe.  Had 
a  good  time?     How's  your  health '!  " 

We  8i)on  settled  down  for  the  winter.  Mi.<s  Laura 
began  going  to  school,  and  came  home  every  dav  with  a 
pile  of  hooks  under  her  arm.  The  summer  in  the  coun- 
try had  done  her  so  much  good  that  her  mother  often 
looked  at  her  fondly,  and  said  the  whit(vfaced  child  she 
sent  away  had  come  home  a  nut-brown  maid. 


I 


T 


i 


n 

1  ■ 

illi 

III 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 


TERFORMINO    ANIMALS. 


WEEK  or  two  after  we  got  home,  I  heard  the 
Morris  boys  talking  al)()ut  an  Italian  who  was 
coming  to  Fairport  witli  a  troupe  of  trained 
animals,  and  I  could  see  for  myself  whenever  I  went  to 
town,  great  flaming  pictures  on  the  fences,  of  monkeys 
sitting  at  tables,  dogs,  and  ponies,  and  goats  climbing 
ladders,  and  rolling  balls,  and  doing  various  tricks.  I 
wondered  very  much  whether  they  would  be  able  to  do 
«'!  thede  extraordinarv  things,  but  it  turned  out  that 
they  did! 

The  Italian's  name  was  Bellini,  atid  one  atlernoon  the 
whole  Morris  family  went  to  see  him  and  his*  animals,  and 
when  they  came  home,  I  heard  them  talking  about  it. 
"  I  wish  you  could  have  been  there,  Joe,"  said  Jack,  pull- 
ing up  my  paws  to  rest  on  his  knees.  "Now  li.-<ten,  old 
follow,  and  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it.  First  of  all,  there 
was  a  perfect  jam  in  the  town  hall.  I  sat  up  in  front,  with 
a  lot  of  fellows,  and  had  a  splendid  view.  The  old  Italian 
came  out  dressed  in  his  best  suit  of  clothes — black  broad- 
cloth, flower  in  his  buttonhole,  and  so  on.  He  made  a  fine 
bow,  and  he  said  he  wa.s  '  pleased  to  see  ze  fine  audience, 
and  he  was  going  to  show  zem  ze  fine  animals,  ze  finest 
animals  in  ze  world.'  Then  he  shook  a  little  whip  that  he 
carried  in  his  hand,  and  he  said  '  zat  zat  whip  didn't  mean 
206 


PEUFORMINU    ANIMAUa. 


267 


board  the 

who  was 

f  trained 

[  went  to 

monkeys 

climbing 

tricks.     I 

)\e  to  do 

out  that 

moon  the 
iiials,  and 

about  it. 
ack,  pull- 
li:Jten,  old 
all,  there 
Tont,  with 
Id  Italian 
ck  broad- 
lade  a  fine 

audience, 
3,  ze  finest 
lip  that  he 
dn't  mean 


zat  he  was  cruel.  Ho  cracked  it  to  show  his  aiiitnals 
wlien  to  begin,  vud,  or  ctiani:*'  tlieir  tricks.'  Sjme  boy 
yelled,  'liats!  you  do  whip  them  sometimes,'  and  the  old 
man  made  another  bow,  and  said,  'Suirtecnly,  he  whipped 
zem  just  as  ze  mammas  whip  ze  naughty  boys,  to  make 
zem  keep  still  when  zey  wu.-*  noisy  or  stubborn.' 

"Then  everybody  laughed  at  the  boy,  and  the  Italian 
said  the  performance  would  begin  by  a  grand  proce.s.-iion 
of  all  the  animals,  if  some  lady  would  kindly  step  up  to 
the  piano  and  play  a  march.  Nina  Smith — you  know 
Nina,  Joe,  the  girl  that  has  black  eyes  and  wears  blue 
ril)bon3,  and  lives  around  the  corner — stepped  up  to 
the  piano,  and  banged  out  a  tine  loud  march.  The  doors 
at  the  side  of  the  platform  opened,  and  out  came  the  ani- 
mals, two  by  two,  just  like  Noah's  ark.  There  was  a  pony 
with  a  monkey  walking  beside  it  and  liolding  on  to  its 
mane,  another  monkey  on  a  pony's  back,  two  monkeys 
hand  in  hand,  a  dog  with  a  parrot  on  his  back,  a  goat 
harnessed  to  a  little  carriage,  another  goat  carrying  a 
bird-cage  in  its  mouth  with  two  canaries  inside,  different 
kinds  of  cats,  some  doves  and  pigeons,  half  a  dozen  white 
rats  with  red  harness,  and  dragging  a  little  chariot  with  a 
monkey  in  it,  and  a  common  white  gander  that  came  in 
last  of  all,  and  did  nothing  but  folLw  one  of  the  ponies 
about. 

"  The  Italian  spoke  of  the  gander,  and  said  it  was  a 
stupid  creature,  and  could  learn  no  tricks,  and  he  only 
kept  it  on  account  of  its  affection  for  the  pony.  He  had 
got  them  both  on  a  Vermont  farm,  when  be  was  looking 
for  show  animals.  The  pony's  master  had  made  a  pet  of 
him,  and  had  taught  him  to  come  whenrver  he  wliistled 
for  him.  Though  the  pony  was  only  a  scrub  of  a  crea- 
ture, he  had  a  gentle  disposition,  and  every  other  animal 


268 


BEAUT/FUL   J'!E. 


on  the  farm  liked  him.     A  ;,'an(lor,  in  particular,  had  such 
un  utlniiration  fur  him,  tliat  he  tollnwiil  liiiii  wiitTfver  iie 


nit, 


id  it'  liu  l(i8t  him  for 


lid 


tJt 


)::■ 


iiiotmt,  lie  wou 
one  uf  the  kuolla  ou  the  farm  ami  stretch  oi  ^  hid  neck 
looking  for  him.  When  he  caught  .si;^ht  of  hi.n,  he  gab- 
hied  with  delight,  and  running  to  him,  waddled  up  and 
down  beside  him.  Every  little  while  the  pony  put  his 
nose  down,  and  seemed  to  be  having  a  converaatiou  wiMi 
the  goose.  If  the  iarmer  whistled  for  the  pony  and  he 
started  to  run  to  him,  the  gander,  knowing  he  could  not 
keep  up,  would  seize  the  pony's  tail  in  his  beak,  and  flap- 
ping his  wings,  would  get  along  as  fast  as  the  pony  did. 
And  the  pony  never  kicked  him.  The  Italian  saw  that 
this  pony  would  be  a  good  one  to  train  for  the  stage,  so 
he  ollered  die  farmer  a  large  price  for  him,  and  took  him 
away. 

"  Oh,  Joe,  i  forgot  to  say,  that  by  this  time  all  the  ani- 
mals had  been  sent  otf  the  stage  except  the  pony  and  the 
gander,  and  they  stood  looking  at  the  Italian  while  he 
talked.  I  never  saw  anything  as  human  in  dumb  ani- 
mals as  that  pony's  face.  lie  looked  as  if  he  understood 
every  word  that  his  master  was  saying.  After  this  story 
was  over,  the  Italian  made  another  bow,  and  then  told  the 
pony  to  bow.  He  nodded  his  head  at  the  people,  and 
they  all  laughed.  Then  the  Italian  asked  him  to  favor 
us  with  a  waltz,  and  the  pony  got  up  on  his  hind  legs  and 
danced.  You  should  have  seen  that  gander  skirmishing 
around,  so  as  to  be  near  the  pony  and  yet  keep  out  of 
the  way  of  his  heels.  We  fellows  just  roared,  and  we 
would  have  kept  him  dancing  all  the  afternoon  if  the 
Italian  hadn't  begged  '  ze  young  gentlemen  not  to  make 
ze  noise,  but  let  ze  pony  do  ze  rest  of  his  tricks.'  Pony 
number  two  came  on  the  stage,  and  it  was  too  queer  tor 


PJSRKoRMINU    AMMAIJB. 


269 


,  iiad  such 
itrcver  iie 
Id   tnouut 

lid  neck 
1,  he  gab- 
up  und 
ly  put  hi.s 
itiou  witrfi 
ly  und  he 
could  not 

and  flap- 
pony  did. 

saw  that 

stage,  so 
took  him 

1  the  ani- 
V  and  the 

while  he 
lumb  ani- 
nderstood 
this  story 
n  told  the 
ople,  and 
1  to  favor 
1  legs  and 
irmishing 
sp  out  of 
,  and  we 
on  if  the 
;  to  make 
3.'  Pony 
queer  tor 


anything  to  st-  the  tilings  the  two  of  thnn  did.  They 
helped  tiie  Italian  on  witli  tii.s  cout,  tlu-y  piilh-d  otf 
hiij  rui)lH'r!<,  tlioy  took  iii.<<  coat  aw>iy  and  hmuglit  liint  a 
chair,  aiid  drai;ged  a  tal)le  u|)  to  it.  'i'liey  hrouglit  liiui 
letters  and  paper.-»,  and  rang  hells,  ami  rolled  barrel.';,  ami 
swung  Uie  Italian  in  a  big  swinu',  and  juinpt-d  a  rope,  and 
walked  up  and  dnwn  .-teps — tiiov  jn.-^l  went  around  tliat 
stage  as  hand\  with  their  teeth  as  two  boys  would  be 
with  their  hands,  and  they  seeined  to  understand  every 
word  their  master  said  to  them. 

"The  best  inck  of  all  was  tellin.:  the  time  and  tloiiij^ 
questions  in  arithmetic.  Tlie  Italian  pulled  hi.s  watch 
out  of  his  pocket  and  showed  it  to  tiic  hn?t  pony,  whose 
name  was  Diamond,  and  .*aid  'What  time  is  it?'  The 
pony  looked  at  it,  tiieii  scratched  four  times  with  his  foiL"- 
foot  on  the  platform.  The  Italian  said,  ' '''iiat's  good — 
four  o'clock,  liut  it's  a  few  minutes  after  four — how 
many?'  The  puny  scratched  again  five  times.  The 
Italian  showed  his  watch  to  the  audience,  and  said  that  it 
wa.s  jui't  live  minutes  past  four.  Then  he  asked  the  pony 
how  old  he  wius.  lie  scratched  four  times.  That  meant 
four  years.  He  asked  him  how  many  days  in  a  week 
there  were,  how  many  montlis  in  a  year,  and  he  gave  him 
some  questions  in  addition  and  subtraction,  and  the  pony 
answered  them  all  correctly.  Of  course  the  Italian  was 
giving  him  some  sign,  but  thnugli  we  watched  him  closely 
we  couldn't  make  ojt  what  it  was.  At  last,  he  tolil  the 
pony  that  he  had  been  very  good,  and  had  done  his  les- 
sons well ;  if  it  would  rest  him,  he  might  be  naughty  a 
little  while.  All  of  a  sudden  a  wicked  look  came  into 
the  creature's  eyes.  He  turned  around,  and  kicked  up 
his  heels  at  his  master,  he  pushed  over  the  tal)le  and 
chairs,  and  knocked  down  a  blackboard  where  he  bad 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


11.25 


■^  Bi2   12.2 


y£ 


lU 


140 


1.4 


12.0 

m 

III  1.6 


^ 


/ 


V 


HiotDgraphic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WIST  MAIN  STRIET 

WEBSTH.N.Y.  MSM 

(716)I73-4S03 


270 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


been  rubbing  out  figures  with  a  sponge  held  in  his  mouth. 
The  Italian  pretended  to  be  cross,  and  said,  '  Come, 
come,  this  won't  do,'  and  he  called  the  other  pony  to  him, 
and  told  him  to  take  that  troublesome  fellow  off  the 
stage.  The  second  one  nosed  Diamond,  and  pushed  him 
about,  finally  bit  him  by  the  ear,  and  led  him  squealing 
off  the  stage.  The  gander  followed,  gabbling  as  fast  as 
he  could,  and  there  was  a  regular  roar  of  applause. 

"  After  that,  there  were  ladders  brought  in,  Joe,  and 
dogs  came  on,  not  thoroughbreds,  but  curs  something  like 
you.  The  Italian  says  he  can't  teach  tricks  to  pedigree 
animals  ^  well  as  to  scrubs.  Tliose  dogs  jumped  the 
ladders,  and  climbed  them,  and  went  through  them,  and 
did  all  kinds  of  things.  The  man  cracked  his  whip  once, 
and  they  began ;  twice,  and  they  did  backward  what  they 
lad  done  forward ;  three  times,  and  they  stopped,  and 
every  animal,  dogs,  goats,  ponies,  and  nioakeys,  after  they 
had  finished  their  tricks,  ran  up  to  their  master,  and  he 
gave  t'nera  a  lump  of  sugar.  They  seemed  fond  of  him, 
and  often  when  they  weren't  performing,  went  up  to  him, 
and  licked  his  hands  or  his  sleeve.  There  was  one  boss 
dog,  Joe,  with  a  head  like  yours.  Bob,  they  called  him, 
and  he  did  all  his  tricks  alone.  The  Italian  went  off  the 
stage,  and  the  dog  came  on  and  made  his  bow,  and 
climbed  his  ladders,  and  jumped  his  hurdles,  and  went  off 
ngain.  The  audience  howled  for  an  encore,  and  didn't 
.  he  come  out  alone,  make  another  bow,  and  retire.  I  saw 
old  Judge  Brown  wiping  the  tears  from  his  eyes,  he'd 
laughed  so  much.  One  of  the  last  tricks  was  with  a  goat, 
and  the  Italian  said  it  was  the  best  of  all,  because  the 
goat  is  such  a  hard  animal  to  teach.  He  had  a  big  ball, 
and  the  goJtt  got  on  it  and  rolled  it  across  the  stage  with- 
out getting  off.  He  looked  as  norvous  aa  a  cat,  shaking  his 


PERFOIUflXO   ANIMALS. 


271 


mouth. 
'  Come, 
to  him, 
off  the 
led  him 
|uealing 
\  fiist  as 
se. 

[oe,  and 
aing  like 
pedigree 
iped  the 
lera,  and 
hip  once, 
rhat  they 
ped,  and 
ifter  they 
,  and  he 
1  of  him, 
p  to  him, 
one  boss 
lied  him, 
it  off  the 
)ow,  and 
wont  off 
id  didn't 
I  saw 
jyes,  he'd 
th  a  goat, 
jaiise  the 
big  ball, 
age  with- 
aking  his 


old  beard,  and  trying  to  keep  his  four  hoo&  clo6e  enough 
together  to  keep  him  on  the  ball. 

*'  We  had  a  funny  little  play  at  the  end  of  the  perform- 
ance. A  monkey  dressed  as  a  lady,  in  a  white  satin  suit 
and  a  bonnet  with  a  whit^  veil,  came  on  the  stage.  She 
was  Miss  Green  and  the  dog  Bub  was  going  to  elope  with 
her.  He  was  all  rigged  out  aa  Mr.  Smith,  and  had  on  a 
light  suit  of  clothes,  and  a  tall  hat  on  the  side  of  his  head, 
high  collar,  long  cuffs,  and  he  carried  a  cane.  He  ;,as  a 
regular  dude.  He  step{)ed  up  to  Miss  Green  on  his  hind 
legs,  and  helped  her  on  to  a  pony's  back.  Tibfi  pony 
galloped  off  the  stage ;  then  a  crowd  of  monkeys,  ctiuttor- 
ing  and  wringing  their  hands,  came  on.  Mr.  Smit'i  had 
run  away  with  their  child.  They  were  all  dressed  up 
too.  There  were  the  father  and  mother,  with  gray  wigs  and 
black  clothes,  and  the  young  Greens  in  bibs  and  tuckers. 
They  were  a  queer-looking  crowd.  While  they  were  go- 
ing on  in  this  way,  the  pony  trotted  back  on  the  stage ; 
and  they  all  flew  at  him  and  pulled  off  their  daughter  from 
his  back,  and  laughed  and  chattered,  and  boxed  her  ears, 
and  took  off  her  white  veil  and  her  satin  dress,  and  put 
on  an  old  brown  thing,  and  some  of  them  seized  the  dog, 
and  kicked  his  hat,  and  broke  his  cane,  and  stripped  his 
clothes  off,  and  threw  them  in  a  corner,  and  bound  his 
legs  with  cords.  A  goat  came  on,  harnessed  to  a  little 
cart,  and  they  threw  the  dog  in  it,  and  wheeled  him  around 
the  stage  a  few  times.  Then  they  took  him  out  and  tied 
him  to  a  hook  in  the  wall,  and  the  goat  ran  off  the  stage, 
and  the  monkeys  ran  to  one  side,  and  one  of  them  pulled 
out  a  little  revolver,  pointed  it  at  the  dog,  fired,  and  ho 
dropped  down  as  if  he  was  dead. 

"The  monkeys  stood  looking  at  him,  and  then  there 
was  the  most  awful  hullabaloo  you  ever  beard.    Such 


272 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


a  barking  and  yelping,  and  half  a  dozen  dogs 
rushed  on  tha  stage,  and  didn't  they  trundle  those  mon- 
keys about.  They  nosed  thera,  and  pushed  them,  and 
shook  thera,  till  they  all  ran  away,  all  but  Miss  Green 
who  sat  shivering  in  a  corner.  Afler  a  while,  she  crept 
up  to  the  dead  dog,  pawed  him  a  little,  and  didn't  he 
jump  up  as  much  alive  as  any  of  thera  ?  Everybody  in 
the  room  clapped  and  shouted,  and  then  the  curtain 
dropped,  a.jd  the  thing  was  over.  I  wish  he'd  give 
another  performance.  Early  in  the  morning  he  has  to 
go  to  Boston." 

Jack  pushed  my  paws  from  his  knees  and  went 
outdoors,  and  I  began  to  think  that  I  would  very 
much  like  to  see  those  performing  animals.  It  was  not 
yet  tea  time,  and  I  would  have  plenty  of  time  to  take  a 
run  down  to  the  hotel  where  thev  were  staving ;  so  I  set 
out.  It  was  a  lovely  autumn  evening.  The  sun  was  go- 
ing down  in  a  haze,  and  it  was  quite  warm.  Earlier  in 
the  day  I  had  heard  Mr.  Morris  say  that  this  was  our 
Indian  summer,  and  that  we  should  soon  have  cold 
weather, 

Fairport  was  a  pretty  little  town,  and  from  the  princi- 
pal street  one  could  look  out  upon  the  blue  water  of  the 
bay  and  see  the  island  opposite  which  was  quite  deserted 
now,  for  all  the  summer  visitors  had  gone  home,  and  the 
Island  House  wa.s  shut  up. 

I  was  running  down  one  of  the  steep  side  streets  that 
led  to  the  water  when  I  met  a  heavily  laden  cart  coming 
up.  It  must  have  been  coming  from  one  of  the  vessels, 
for  it  was  full  of  strange-looking  boxes  and  packages.  A 
fine-looking  nervous  horse  was  drawing  it,  and  he  was 
straining  every  nerve  to  get  it  up  the  steep  hill.  His 
driver  was  a  burly,  hard-faced  man,  and  instead  of  letting 


PERFORMING   ANIMALS. 


273 


I  dogB 
se  mon- 
m,  and 
Green 
e  crept 
dn't  he 
body  in 
curtain 
s'd  give 
s  has  to 

id  went 
Id  very 
was  not 
,o  take  a 
so  I  set 
I  was  go- 
arlier  in 
was  our 
,ve   cold 

princi- 
!r  of  the 
deserted 

and  the 

sets  that 
coming 
vessels, 

ges.  A 
he  was 

11.     Hib 

f  letting 


his  horse  stop  a  minute  to  rest  he  kept  urging  him  for- 
ward. The  poor  horse  kept  looking  at  his  master,  his 
eyes  almost  starting  from  his  head  ia  terror.  He  knew 
that  the  whip  was  alK)ut  to  descend  on  his  quivering  body. 
And  so  it  did,  and  there  was  no  one  by  to  interfere.  No 
one  but  a  woman  in  ?>  ragged  shawl  who  would  have  no 
influence  with  the  driver.  There  was  a  very  good  hu- 
mane society  in  Fairport,  and  none  of  the  teamsters 
dared  ill  use  their  horses  if  any  of  the  members  were 
near.  This  was  u  quiet  out-of-the-way  street,  with  only 
poor  houses  on  it,  and  the  man  probably  knew  that  none 
of  the  members  of  the  society  would  be  likely  to  l)e  living 
in  them.  He  whipped  his  horse,  and  whipped  him,  till 
every  lash  made  my  heart  ache,  and  if  I  had  dared  I 
would  have  bitten  him  severely.  Suddenly  there  was  a 
dull  thud  in  the  street  The  horse  had  fallen  down.  The 
driver  ran  to  his  head,  but  he  was  quite  dead.  "  Thank 
God ! "  said  the  poorly  dressed  woman,  bitterly ;  "  one 
more  out  of  this  world  of  misery."  Then  she  turned  and 
went  down  the  street.  I  was  glad  for  the  horse.  He 
would  never  be  frightened  or  miserable  again,  and  I  went 
slowly  on,  thinking  that  death  is  the  best  thing  that  can 
happen  to  tortured  animals. 

The  Fairport  Hotel  was  built  right  in  the  centre  of  the 
town,  and  the  shops  and  houses  crowded  quite  close  about 
it.  It  was  a  high,  brick  building,  and  it  wa?  called  the 
Fairport  House.  As  I  was  running  along  the  sidewalk 
I  heard  some  one  speak  to  me,  and  looking  up  I  saw 
Charlie  Montague.  I  had  heard  the  Morrises  say  that 
his  parents  were  staying  at  the  hotel  for  a  few  weeks, 
while  their  house  was  being  repaired.  He  had  his  Irish 
setter  Brisk,  with  him,  and  a  handsome  dog  he  was,  as  he 
stood  waving  his  silky  tail  in  the  sunlight  Charlie  patted 

a 


274 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


m- 


me,  and  then  he  and  his  dog  went  into  the  hotel.  I  turned 
into  the  stable  yard.  It  was  a  small,  choked-up  place, 
and  as  I  picked  my  way  under  the  cubs  and  wuguna 
standing  in  the  yard,  I  wondered  why  the  hotel  people 
didn't  buy  some  of  the  old  houses  near  by,  and  tear  them 
down,  and  make  a  stable  yard  worthy  of  buch  a  nice 
hotel.  The  hotel  horses  were  just  getting  rubbed  down 
after  their  day's  work,  and  others  were  coming  in.  The 
men  were  talking  and  laughing,  and  there  was  no  sign 
of  strange  animals,  so  I  went  around  to  the  back  of  the 
yard.  Here  they  were,  in  an  empty  cow  stable,  under  a 
hay  loft.  Tiiere  were  two  little  ponies  tied  up  in  a  stall, 
two  goats  beyond  them,  and  dogs  and  monkeys  in  strong 
traveling  cages.  I  stood  in  the  doorway  and  stared  at 
them.  I  was  sorry  for  the  dogs  to  be  sliut  up  on  such  a 
lovely  evening,  but  I  suppose  their  master  was  afraid  of 
their  getting  lost,  or  being  stolen,  if  he  let  them  loose. 

They  all  seemed  very  friendly.  The  ponies  turned 
around  and  looked  at  me  with  their  gentle  eyes,  and  then 
went  on  munching  their  hay.  I  wondered  very  much  where 
the  gander  was,  and  went  a  little  farther  into  the  stable. 
Something  white  raised  itself  up  out  of  the  brownest 
pony's  crib,  and  tliere  was  the  gander  close  up  beside  the 
open  mouth  of  his  friend.  The  monueys  made  a  jabber- 
ing noise,  and  held  on  to  the  brffe  of  their  cage  with  their 
little  black  hands,  while  they  looked  out  at  me.  Tlie 
dogs  sniffed  the  air.  and  wagged  their  tails,  and  tried  to 
put  their  muzzles  through  the  bars  of  their  cage.  I  liked 
the  dogs  best,  and  I  wanted  to  see  the  one  they  called 
Bob,  Eo  I  went  up  quite  close  to  them.  There  were  two 
little  white  do^s,  something  like  Billy,  two  mongrel  span- 
iels, an  Irish  terrier,  and  a  brown  dog  asleep  in  the 
corner,  that  I  knew  must  be  Bob.     lie  did  look  a  little 


PERFORMINO   ANIMAU3. 


276 


like  mc,  but  he  was  uot  quite  so  ugly,  for  he  had  his  c;ira 
aud  hid  tail. 

While  I  was  pceriug  through  the  bars  at  him,  a  man 
cauie  in  the  stable.  He  noticed  me  the  first  thing,  but 
instead  of  driving  me  out.  he  spoke  kindly  to  me,  in  a  laa- 
guuge  that  I  did  not  understand.  So  I  knew  that  he  was 
the  Italian.  How  glad  the  animals  were  to  see  him !  The 
gander  fluttered  out  of  his  nest,  the  ponies  pulled  at  their 
halters,  the  dogs  whined  and  tried  to  reach  his  hands  to 
lick  them,  and  tiie  monkeys  chattered  with  delight.  He 
laughed,  and  talked  back  to  them  in  queer,  sofl-sounding 
words.  Then  he  took  out  of  a  bag  on  his  arm,  bones  for 
the  dogs,  nuts  and  cakes  for  the  monkeys,  nice,  juicy  car- 
rots for  the  ponies,  some  green  stuff  for  the  goats,  and 
corn  for  the  gander. 

It  was  a  pretty  sight  to  see  the  old  man  feeding  hia 
pets,  and  it  made  me  feel  quite  hungry,  so  I  trc  tted  home. 
I  had  a  run  down  town  again  that  evening  with  Mr. 
Morris,  who  went  to  get  something  from  a  shop  for  his 
wife.  He  never  let  his  boys  go  to  town  after  tea,  so  if 
there  were  errands  to  be  done,  he  or  Mrs.  Morris  went 
The  town  was  bright  aud  lively  that  evening,  and  a  great 
many  people  were  walking  about  and  looking  into  the 
shop  windows. 

When  we  came  home,  1  went  into  the  kennel  with  Jim, 
and  there  I  slept  till  the  middle  of  the  night.  Then  I 
started  up  and  ran  outside.  There  was  a  distant  bell 
ringing,  which  we  often  heard  in  Fairport,  and  which 
always  meant  fire. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 


„--^y 


1 


A  FIRE  IN  FAIKPORT. 

HAD  several  times  run  to  a  fire  with  the  boys 
and  knew  that  there  was  always  a  great  moise 
and  excitemeut.  There  was  a  light  in  the 
house,  80  I  knew  that  somebody  was  getting  up.  I  don't 
think — indeed  I  know,  for  they  were  good  boys — that 
they  ever  wanted  anybody  to  lose  property,  but  they  did 
enjoy  seeing  a  blaze,  and  one  of  their  greatest  delights, 
when  there  hadn't  been  a  fire  for  some  time,  was  to  build 
a  bonfire  in  the  garden, 

Jim  and  I  ran  around  to  the  front  of  the  house  and 
waited.  In  a  few  minutes,  some  one  came  rattling  at  the 
front  door,  and  I  was  sure  it  was  Jack.  But  it  was  Mr. 
Morris,  and  without  a  word  to  us,  he  set  off  almost  running 
toward  the  town.  We  followed  after  him,  and  as  we 
hurried  along,  other  men  ran  out  from  the  houses  along 
the  streets,  and  either  joined  him,  or  dashed  ahead.  They 
seemed  to  have  dressed  in  a  hurry,  and  were  thrusting 
their  arms  in  their  coats,  and  buttoning  themselves  up  aa 
they  went.  Some  of  them  had  hats  and  some  of  them 
had  none,  and  they  all  had  their  faces  toward  the  great, 
red  light  that  got  brighter  and  brighter  ahead  of  us. 
"  Where's  the  fire  ?  "  they  shouted  to  each  other.  "  Don't 
know — afraid  it's  the  hotel,  or  the  town  hall.  It's  such  a 
276 


▲  FIRE   IN   FAIRPORT. 


277 


and 
tthe 
Mr. 
ining 
we 
long 
They 
Bting 
up  as 
them 
;reat, 
f  us. 
on't 
ch  a 


blaze.    Hope  not.     How's  the  water  supply  now  ?    Bad 
time  for  a  fire." 

It  was  the  hotel.  We  saw  that  as  soon  as  we  got  ou 
to  the  main  street.  There  wore  people  all  about,  and  a 
great  noise  and  confusion,  uud  smoke  and  blacivncss,  and 
up  above,  bright  tongues  of  llanie  were  leaping  against 
the  sky.  Jim  and  1  kept  close  to  Mr.  Morris's  heels,  as 
he  pushed  his  way  among  tlie  crowd.  Wlien  wc  got 
nearer  the  burning  building,  we  saw  men  carrying  lad- 
ders and  axes,  and  others  were  shouting  directions,  and 
rushing  out  of  the  hotel,  carrying  boxes  and  bundles  and 
furniture  in  their  arms.  From  the  windows  above  came 
a  steady  stream  of  articles,  thrown  among  the  crowd.  A 
mirror  struck  Mr.  ^Morris  on  the  arm,  and  a  whole  pack* 
ago  of  clotlies  full  on  his  head  and  almost  smothered  him ; 
but  he  brushed  them  aside  and  scarcely  noticed  them. 
There  was  something  the  matter  with  Mr.  Morris — 1 
knew  by  the  worried  sound  of  liis  voice  when  he  spoke  to 
any  one.  I  could  not  see  his  face,  though  it  was  as  light 
as  day  about  us,  for  we  had  got  jammed  in  the  crowd, 
and  if  I  had  not  kept  between  his  feet,  I  should  have 
been  trodden  to  death.  Jim,  being  larger  than  I  was, 
had  got  separated  from  us. 

Presently  Mr.  Morris  raised  his  voice  above  the  uproar, 
and  called,  "  Is  every  one  out  of  the  hotel  ?  "  A  voice 
shouted  back,  "  I'm  going  up  to  see." 

"  It's  Jim  Watson,  the  fireman,"  cried  some  one  near. 
"  He's  risking  his  life  to  go  into  that  pit  of  flame.  Don't 
go,  Watson."  I  don't  think  that  the  brave  fireman  paid 
any  attention  to  this  warning,  for  an  instant  later  the 
same  voice  said,  "  He's  planting  his  ladder  against  the 
third  story.  He's  bound  to  go.  He'll  not  get  any  for^ 
tber  than  the  second,  anyway." 


278 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


"  Where  are  the  Montagues  ?  "  shouted  Mr.  Morris. 
"  Has  any  one  seen  the  Montai,'uc.s  ? " 

"  Mr.  Morris !  Mr.  Morris !  "  said  a  friglitcned  voice, 
and  young  Charlie  Montague  pressed  tiirough  tiie  people 
to  us.    "  Where's  papa  ?  " 

"I  dont  know.  Where  did  you  leave  him?"  said 
Mr.  Morris,  taking  his  liand  and  drawing  hini  closer  to 
him.  ''  I  was  sleeping  in  his  room,"  said  the  boy,  "  and 
a  man  knocked  at  the  door,  and  said, '  Hotel  on  fire. 
Five  minutes  to  dress  and  get  out,'  and  papa  told  mc  to 
put  on  my  clothes  and  go  downstairs,  and  he  ran  up 
to  mamma." 

'  Where  was  she  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Morris,  quickly. 

"  On  the  fourth  flat.  She  and  her  maid  Blanche  were 
up  there.  You  know,  mamma  hasn't  been  well  and 
couldn't  sleep,  and  our  room  was  so  noisy  that  she  moved 
upstairs  where  it  was  quiet."  Mr.  Morris  gave  a  kind  of 
groan.  "  Oh,  I'm  so  hot,  and  there's  such  a  dreadful 
noise,"  said  the  little  boy,  bursting  into  tears, "  and  I  want 
mamma."  Mr.  Morris  soothed  him  as  best  he  could,  and 
drew  liim  a  little  to  the  edge  of  the  crowd. 

While  he  was  doing  this,  there  was  a  piercing  cry.  I 
could  not  see  the  person  making  it,  but  I  knew  it  was  the 
Italian's  voice.  He  was  screaming,  ii  broken  EngUsh 
that  the  Are  was  spreading  to  the  stables,  and  his  ani* 
mals  would  be  burned.  Would  no  one  help  him  to  get 
his  animals  out  ?  There  was  a  great  deal  of  confused 
language.  Some  voices  shouted,  "  Look  after  the  people 
first.  Let  tlie  animals  go."  And  others  said,  "  For 
shame.  Get  the  horses  out."  But  no  one  seemed  to  do 
anything,  for  the  Italian  went  on  crying  for  help.  I 
heard  a  number  of  people  who  were  standing  near  us  say 
that  it  had  just  been  found  out  that  several  persons  who 


A    FIRF:   in    FAIRI'OUr. 


279 


had  been  sleeping  in  the  top  of  the  hotel  had  not  gut  out. 
Thoy  saiil  that  at  one  of  the  top  windows  a  poor  bouscy 
maid  was  shrieking  for  help.  Here  in  the  street  wo 
jouid  sec  no  one  at  the  upper  windows,  for  smoke  waa 
pouring  from  them. 

The  air  was  very  hot  and  heavy,  and  I  didn't  wonder 
that  Charlie  Montague  felt  ill.  He  would  have  fallen  ou 
the  ground  if  Mr.  Morris  hadn'  taken  him  in  his  arms, 
and  carried  him  out  of  the  crowd.  He  put  him  down  on 
the  hrick  sidewalk,  and  unfitslened  his  little  t<liirt,  and 
left  me  to  watch  him,  while  ho  iicld  his  liands  under 
a  leak  in  a  hose  that  w:ts  fiu^tened  U)  a  hydrant 
near  us.  He  got  enough  water  to  dash  on  Charlie's  face 
and  breast,  and  then  seeing  that  the  boy  was  reviving,  he 
sat  down  on  the  curbstone  and  took  him  on  his  knee. 
Charlie  lav  in  his  arms  and  moaned.  He  was  a  delicate 
boy,  and  he  could  not  stand  rough  usage  as  the  Morria 
boys  could. 

Mr.  Morris  was  terribly  uneasy.  His  face  was  deathly 
white,  and  he  shuddered  whenever  there  was  a  crv  from 
tlic  burning  building.  "  Poor  souls — God  help  tbem. 
Oh,  this  is  awful,"  he  said ;  and  then  he  turned  his  eyes 
from  the  great  sheets  of  flame  and  strained  the  little  boy 
to  his  breast.  At  last  there  were  wild  shrieks  that  1 
knew  came  from  no  human  throats.  The  fire  must  have 
reached  the  horses.  Mr.  Morris  sprang  up,  then  sank 
back  again.  He  wanted  to  go,  yet  he  could  be  of  no  use. 
Tiiere  were  hundred.s  of  men  standing  about,  but  the  fire 
had  spread  so  rapidly,  and  they  had  so  little  water  to  put 
on  it,  that  there  was  very  little  they  could  <lo.  I  won- 
dered whether  I  could  do  anything  for  the  poor  animals. 
I  was  not  afi'aid  of  fire,  as  most  dogs,  for  one  of  the  tricks 
that  the  Morris  boys  had  taught  me  was  to  put  out  a  fire 


280 


BEAUTIFUL  JOB. 


I    i 


with  roj  paws.  They  would  throw  a  piece  uf  lijjlitcd 
pupur  ua  the  floor,  aud  1  would  crush  it  with  luy  t'uro* 
puwa;  aud  if  the  blaze  was  too  large  i'ur  that,  1  would 
dru<;  a  bit  of  old  cari>tit  over  it  aud  juuip  ou  it.  I  leit 
Mr.  Morris,  aud  ruu  uruuud  the  corner  of  the  strecct  tu 
the  back  of  the  hotel.  It  was  uot  burufd  as  luuch  here 
as  iu  the  frout,  aud  in  the  houses  all  urouud,  people 
were  out  ou  their  roofs  with  wet  blankets,  and  souie  were 
standing  at  the  windows  watching  the  tiro,  or  packing  up 
their  belougiugs  ready  to  move  if  it  should  spread  to 
theiu.  There  was  a  uarrow  lane  running  up  a  sliort  dis- 
tance toward  the  hotel,  and  I  started  to  go  up  tiiis,  wlicu 
iu  front  of  me  1  heard  such  a  wailing,  pierciug  noise, 
that  it  made  me  shudder  and  stand  still.  The  Italian's 
animals  were  going  to  be  burued  up,  aud  they  were  call- 
iug  to  their  ma2<ter  to  come  and  let  them  out.  Their 
voices  sounded  like  the  voices  of  children  in  mortal  pain. 
I  could  not  stand  it.  I  was  seized  with  such  an  awful 
horror  of  the  fire,  that  1  turned  and  ran,  feeling  so  thank- 
ful that  I  was  not  iu  it.  As  I  got  into  the  street,  I 
stumbled  over  something.  It  was  a  large  bird — a  parrot, 
and  at  first  I  thought  it  was  Bella.  Then  I  remembered 
hearing  Jack  say  that  the  Italian  had  a  parrot.  It  was 
not  dead,  but  seemed  stupid  with  the  smoke.  I  seized  it  in 
my  mouth,  and  ran  and  laid  it  at  Mr.  Morris's  feet.  He 
wrapped  it  in  bis  handkerchief,  and  laid  it  beside  him. 

I  sat,  and  trembled,  and  did  not  leave  him  again.  I 
shall  never  forget  that  dreadful  night.  It  seemed  as  if 
we  were  there  for  hours,  but  in  reality  it  was  only  a  short 
time.  The  hotel  soon  got  to  be  all  red  flames,  and  there 
was  very  little  smoke.  The  inside  of  the  building  had 
burned  away,  and  nothing  more  could  be  gotten  out  The 
firemen  and  all  the  people  drew  back,  and  there  was  no 


A   PIBB  IN   FAIRPOKT. 


281 


noiie.  Everybody  stood  gazing  silently  at  the  flame«. 
A  man  8ti>p{)ed  (juietly  up  to  Mr.  MorrJM,  and  looking  at 
him,  I  8UW  that  it  was  Mr.  Montague.  lie  was  usually  a 
weli-drcflscd  man,  witli  a  kind  face,  and  a  head  of  thick, 
grayish-brown  hair.  Now  liis  face  wus  black  and  grimy, 
his  hair  was  burnt  from  the  front  of  his  head,  and  his 
clothes  were  half  torn  from  his  back.  Mr.  Morris  sprung 
up  when  he  saw  him,  and  said,  "  Where  ia  your  wife?" 

The  gentleman  did  not  say  a  word  but  pointed  to  the 
burning  building.  "  Impossible,"  cried  Mr.  Morris.  "  Is 
there  no  mistake?  Vour  beautiful  young  wife,  Montague. 
Can  it  be  so?  "  Mr.  Morris  was  trembling  from  head  to 
foot 

*'  It  is  true,"  said  Mr.  Montague,  quietly.  "  Give  me 
the  boy."  Charlie  had  faint«>d  again,  and  his  father  took 
him  iu  his  arms,  and  turne<l  away. 

"  Montague !  "  cried  Mr.  Morris,  "  my  heart  is  sore  for 
you.    Can  I  do  nothing?" 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  the  gentleman,  without  turning 
around ;  but  there  was  more  anguish  in  his  voice  than  in 
Mr.  Morris's,  and  though  I  am  only  a  dog,  I  knew  that 
his  heart  was  breaking. 


j^F 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 


BILLY    AND   THE   ITALIAN. 

R.  MORRIS  stayed  no  longer.  He  followed  Mr. 
Montague  along  the  sidewalk  a  little  way,  and 
then  exchanged  a  few  hurried  words  with  some 
men  who  were  standing  near,  and  hastonrsd  home  through 
streets  that  seemed  dark  and  dull  sifter  the  splendor  of 
the  tira.  Tlion^^L  it  was  still  the  middle  of  the  night, 
Mrs.  Mjrris  was  up  and  dresvsed  and  waiting  for  hira. 
She  opened  the  hail  door  with  one  hand  and  held  a 
candle  in  the  other.  I  felt  frightened  and  miserable,  and 
didn't  want  to  leave  Mr.  Morris,  so  I  crept  in  after  him. 

"  Don't  make  a  noise,"  said  Mrs.  Morris.  "  Laura  and 
the  boys  are  sleeping,  and  I  thought  it  better  not  to  wake 
them.  It  has  been  a  terrible  fire,  hasn't  it?  Was  it  the 
hotel?"  Mr.  Morris  threw  himsflf  into  a  chair  and 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands. 

"Speak  to  me,  William,"  said  M;  .  Morris,  in  a  startled 
tone.  "  You  are  not  hurt,  are  you  ?  "  and  she  put  her 
candle     i  the  table,  and  came  and  sat  down  beside  him. 

He  dropped  his  hands  from  his  face,  and  tears  were 
running  down  his  cheeks.  "Ten  lives  lost,"  he  said; 
"  among  them  Mrs.  Montague." 

Mrs.  Morris  looked  horrified,  and  gave  a  little  cry, 
"  William,  it  can't  be  8*> !" 

It  seemed  as  if  Mr.  Morris  could  not  sit  still.     He  got 


BILLY   AND  THE   ITALIAN. 


283 


up  and  walked  to  and  fro  on  the  floor.  "  It  was  an  awful 
Bceue,  Margaret.  I  never  wish  to  look  upon  the  like 
again.  Do  you  remember  how  1  protested  against  the 
l)uilding  of  that  death-trap?  Look  at  the  wide,  open 
streets  around  it,  and  yet  they  persisted  in  running  it  up 
to  the  sky.  God  will  require  uu  account  of  those  deaths 
at  the  hands  uf  the  men  who  put  up  that  building.  It  is 
terrible — this  disregard  of  human  lives.  To  think  of  that 
delicate  woman  and  her  death  agouv."  He  threw  him- 
self  in  a  chair  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"Where  was  she?  How  did  it  happen?  Was  her 
husband  saved,  and  Charlie?"  said  Mrs.  Morris,  in  a 
broken  voice. 

"  Yes ;  Charlie  and  Mr.  Montague  are  safe.  Char  1  ie  will 
recover  from  it.  Montague's  life  is  done.  You  know  his 
love  for  his  wife.  Oh,  Margaret !  when  will  men  cease  to 
be  fools?  What  does  the  Lord  think  of  them  when  they 
say,  'Am  I  my  brother's  keeper?'  And  the  other  poor 
creatures  burned  to  death — their  lives  are  as  precious  in 
bis  sight  as  Mrs.  Montague's." 

Mr.  Morris  looked  so  weak  and  ill  that  Mrs.  Morris, 
like  a  sensible  woman,  questioned  him  no  further,  but 
made  a  fire  and  got  him  some  hot  tea.  Then  she  made 
him  lie  down  en  the  sofa,  and  she  sat  bv  him  till  dav- 
break,  when  she  persuaded  him  to  go  t'>  bed.  I  followed 
her  about,  and  kept  touching  her  dress  with  my  nose.  It 
seemed  so  good  to  me  to  have  this  pleasant  home  after  all 
the  misery  I  had  seen  that  night.  Once  she  stopped  and 
took  my  head  between  her  hands,  "  Dear  old  Joe,"  she 
said,  tearfully,  "this  is  a  sulfering  world.  It's  well 
there's  a  better  one  beyond  it." 

In  the  morning  the  boys  went  down  town  before  break- 
fast and  learned  all  about  the  fire.     It  started  in  the  top 


284 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


8tt)ry  of  the  hotel,  in  the  room  of  some  fa«t  young  men, 
who  were  sitting  up  late  playing  cards.  They  had  smug- 
gled wine  into  their  room  and  had  been  drinking  till  they 
were  atupid.  One  of  them  upset  the  lamp,  and  when  the 
flames  began  to  spread  so  that  they  could  not  extinguish 
them,  instead  of  rousing  some  one  near  them,  they  rushed 
downstairs  to  get  some  one  tliere  to  come  up  and  help 
them  put  out  the  fire.  When  they  returned  with  some 
of  the  hotel  people,  they  found  that  tlie  flames  had  spread 
from  their  room,  which  was  in  an  "L"  at  the  back  of 
the  house,  to  the  front  part,  where  Mrs.  Montague's  room 
was,  and  where  the  housemaids  belonging  to  the  hotel 
slept.  By  this  time  Mr.  ]\Iontague  had  gotten  upstairs ; 
but  he  found  the  passageway  to  his  wife's  room  so  full  of 
flames  and  smoke,  that,  though  he  tried  again  and  again 
to  force  his  way  through,  he  could  not.  He  disappeared 
for  a  time,  then  he  came  to  Mr.  Morris  i  nd  got  his  boy, 
and  took  him  to  some  rooms  over  his  bank,  and  shut 
himself  up  with  him.  For  some  days  he  ^vould  let  no 
one  in  ;  then  he  came  out  with  the  look  of  au  old  man  on 
his  face,  and  his  hair  as  white  as  snow,  and  wen'  out  to 
his  beautiful  house  in  the  outskirts  of  the  town> 

Nearly  ail  the  horses  belonging  to  the  hotel  were 
burned.  A  few  were  gotten  out  by  having  blankets  put 
over  their  heads,  but  the  most  of  them  were  80  terrified 
that  they  would  not  stir. 

The  Morris  boys  said  that  they  found  thfl  old  Italian 
sitting  on  an  empty  box,  looking  at  the  smoking  ruins  of 
the  hotel.  His  head  vfFS  hanging  on  his  breast,  and  his 
eyes  were  full  of  tears.  His  ponies  were  burned  up,  he 
said,  and  the  gander,  and  the  monkeys,  and  the  goats,  and 
his  wonderful  performing  dogs.  He  had  tmly  hia  birds 
lefl,  and  he  was  a  ruined  man.    He  had  toiled  all  his  life 


BILLY   AND  THE  ITALIAN. 


285 


1  smug- 
ill  they 
ben  the 
inguish 

rushed 
id  help 
th  some 
I  spread 
aack  of 
e's  room 
he  hotel 
ipstairs ; 
0  full  of 
nd  again 
appeared 

bis  boy, 
ind  sbut 
d  let  no 
i  man  on 
out  to 

)tel  were 
ikets  put 
terrified 

Italian 
-  ruins  of 

and  bis 

}d  up,  he 

goats,  and 

his  birds 

ill  his  life 


to  get  this  troupe  of  trained  animals  together,  and  now 
they  were  swept  from  him.  It  was  cruel  and  wicked,  and 
he  wished  he  could  die.  The  canaries,  and  pigeons,  and 
dovee,  the  hotel  people  had  allowed  him  to  take  to 
his  room,  and  they  were  safe.  The  parrot  was  lost — an 
educated  parrot  that  could  answer  forty  questions,  and 
among  other  things,  could  take  a  watch  and  tell  the  time 
of  day. 

Jack  Morris  told  him  tiiat  they  had  it  safe  at  home,  and 
that  it  was  very  much  alive,  quarreling  furiously  with  his 
parrot  Bella.  The  old  man's  face  brightened  at  this,  and 
then  Jack  and  Carl,  finding  that  he  had  had  no  breakfast, 
went  off  to  a  restr.urant  near  by,  and  got  him  some  steak 
and  coffee.  The  Italian  was  very  grateful,  and  as  he  ate, 
Jack  said  the  tears  ran  into  bis  coffee  cup.  He  told  them 
how  much  he  loved  bis  animals,  and  how  it  "  made  ze 
heart  bitter  to  hear  zem  crying  to  him  to  deliver  zem 
from  ze  raging  fire." 

The  boys  came  home,  and  got  their  breakfast  and  went 
to  school.  Miss  Laura  did  not  go  out.  She  sat  all  day 
with  a  very  quiet,  pained  face.  She  could  neither  read 
nor  sew,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morris  were  just  as  unsettled. 
Thjy  talked  about  the  fire  in  low  tones,  and  I  could  see 
that  they  felt  more  sad  about  Mrs.  Montague's  death,  than 
if  she  had  died  in  an  ordinary  way.  Her  dear  little 
canary,  Barry,  died  with  her.  She  would  never  be  sepa- 
rated from  him,  and  his  cage  had  been  taken  up  to  the 
top  of  the  hotel  with  her.  He  probably  died  an  easier 
death  than  his  poor  mistress.  Charley's  dog  escaped,  but 
was  80  frightened  that  he  ran  out  to  their  house,  outside 
the  town. 

At  tea  time,  Mr.  Morris  wont  down  town  to  see  that 
the  Italian  got  a  comfortable  place  for  the  night.    When 


I 


286 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


he  came  back,  he  said  that  he  had  found  oat  that  ihe 
Italian  was  by  no  means  so  old  a  man  as  he  lucked,  and 
that  he  hud  talked  to  iiim  about  raising  a  sum  of  money 
for  him  among  the  Fairport  people,  till  he  had  become 
quite  cheerful,  and  said  that  if  Mr.  Morris  would  do  that, 
he  would  try  ti  gather  another  troupe  of  animals  to- 
gether  and  train  them. 

"Now,  what  can  we  do  for  this  Italian?"  asked  Mrs. 
Morris.  "  We  can't  give  him  much  money,  but  we  might 
let  him  have  one  or  two  of  our  pets.  There's  Billy,  he's 
a  bright,  little  dog,  and  not  two  years  old  yet  He  could 
teach  him  anything." 

There  was  a  blank  silence  among  the  Morris  children. 
Billy  was  such  a  gentle,  lovable,  little  dog,  that  he  was  a 
favorite  with  every  one  in  the  house.  "I  suppose  we 
ought  to  do  it,"  said  Miss  Laura,  at  last,  "  but  how  can 
we  give  him  up  ?  " 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  discussion,  but  the  end  of  it 
was  that  Billy  was  given  to  th.t  Italian.  He  came  up  to 
get  him,  and  was  very  grateful,  and  made  a  great  many 
bows,  holding  his  hut  in  his  hand.  Billy  took  to  hira  at 
once,  and  the  Italian  spoke  so  kindly  to  him,  that  we 
knew  he  would  have  a  good  master.  Mr.  Morris  got 
quite  a  large  sura  of  money  for  him,  and  when  he  handed 
it  to  hira,  the  poor  man  was  so  pleased  tliat  he  ki??ed  his 
hand,  and  promised  to  send  frequent  word  as  to  Billy's 
progress  and  welfare. 


•I  ' 


^ ^ L 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 


DANDV   THE  TRAMP. 


IBOUT  a  week  alter  Billy  left  us,  the  Morris 
family,  much  to  its  surprise,  became  the  owner 
of  a  new  dog. 

He  walked  into  the  house  one  cold,  wintry  afternoon, 
and  lay  calmly  down  by  the  fire.  He  was  a  brindled 
bull-terrier,  and  he  had  on  a  silver-plated  collar,  with 
"  Dandy"  engraved  on  it.  He  lay  all  the  evening  by  the 
fire,  and  when  any  of  the  ihraily  spoke  to  hira,  he  wagged 
his  tail,  and  looked  pleased.  I  growled  a  little  at  him  at 
first,  but  he  never  cared  a  bit,  and  j;;st  dozed  off  to  sleep, 
80  I  soon  stopped. 

He  was  such  a  well-bred 
afraid  that  some  one  had  lost  hira.  They  made  some  in- 
quiries the  next  day,  and  found  that  he  belonged  to  a 
New  York  gentleman  who  had  come  to  Fairport  in  the 
summer  in  a  yacht.  This  dog  did  not  like  the  yacht,  lie 
came  ashore  in  a  boat  whenever  he  got  a  chance,  and  if  he 
could  not  come  in  a  boat,  he  would  swim.  He  w»s  a 
tramp,  his  master  said,  and  he  wouldn't  stay  long  in  any 
place.  The  Morrises  were  so  amused  with  his  impudence, 
that  they  did  not  send  him  away,  but  said  every  day, 
"  Surely  he  will  be  gone  to-morrow." 


dog,  that  the  Morrises  were 


J! 


288 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


However,  Mr.  Dandy  had  gotten  into  comtbrtable 
quarters,  and  he  had  uo  intentioa  of  changing  them,  fur 
a  while  at  least.  Then  he  was  very  handsome,  and  had 
such  a  pleasant  way  with  him,  that  the  family  could  not 
help  liking  him.  I  never  cared  for  him.  He  fawned  on 
the  Morrises,  and  pretended  he  loved  them,  and  after- 
ward turned  around  and  laughed  and  sneered  at  them  in 
a  way  that  made  me  very  angry.  I  used  to  lecture  him 
sometimes,  and  growl  about  him  to  Jim,  but  Jim  always 
said,  "  Let  him  alone.  You  can't  do  him  any  good.  He 
was  born  bad.  His  mother  wasn't  good.  He  tells  me 
that  she  had  a  bad  name  among  all  the  dogs  in  her  neign- 
borhood.  She  was  a  thief  and  a  runaway."  Though  he 
provoked  me  so  often,  yet  I  could  not  help  laughing  at 
some  of  his  stories,  they  were  so  funny. 

We  were  lying  out  in  the  sun,  on  the  platform  at  the 
back  of  the  house  one  day,  and  he  had  been  more  than 
usually  provoking,  so  I  got  up  to  leave  him.  He  put 
himself  in  my  way,  however,  and  said,  coaxingly,  "  Don't 
be  cross,  old  fellow.  I'll  tell  you  some  stories  to  amuse 
you,  old  boy.    What  shall  they  be  about  ?  " 

"  I  think  the  story  of  your  life  would  be  about  as  inter- 
esting aa  anything  you  could  make  up,"  I  said,  dryly. 

"  All  right,  fact  or  fiction,  whichever  you  like.  Hero's 
a  fact,  plain  and  unvarnished.  Born  and  bred  in  New 
York.  Swell  stable.  Swell  coachman.  Swell  master. 
JeVelled  fingers  of  ladies  poking  at  me,  first  thing  1  re- 
member. First  painful  experience — being  sent  to  vet.  to 
have  ears  cut." 

"  What's  a  vet.  ?  "  I  said. 

"  A  veterinary — animal  doctor.  Vet.  didn't  cut  cars 
enough.  Master  sent  me  back.  Cut  ears  again  Sum- 
mer time,  and  flies  bad.    Ears  got  sore  and  festered,  and 


DANDY   THE  TRAMP. 


289 


mfortable 
tbem,  fur 
and  bad 
could  not 
uwned  on 
md  after- 
t  them  in 
cture  him 
im  always 
good.    He 
!  tells  me 
her  ueign- 
rhougb  he 
bUghing  at 

>mi  at  tbe 

more  than 

He  put 

y,  "  Don't 

to  amuse 

ut  as  inter- 
dryly. 
ie.    Hero's 
red  in  New 
ell  master, 
thing  1  re- 
t  to  vet.  to 


't  cut  cars 
ain  Sum- 
istered,  and 


flies  very  attentive.  Coachnmn  set  little  boy  to  brush 
flies  off,  but  he'd  run  out  in  yard  uud  leave  nie.  Plies 
awful.  Thought  they'd  eat  me  up,  or  else  I'd  shake  out 
braius  trying  to  get  rid  of  them.  .Neither  sliould  have 
stayed  home  and  licked  my  ears,  but  was  cruising  about 
neighborhood.  Finally  coachman  put  me  in  dark  place, 
powdered  ears,  and  they  got  well." 

"Why  didn't  they  cut  your  tail  too?  "  I  said,  looking 
at  his  long,  slim  tail,  which  was  like  a  sewer  rut's. 

"  'Twasn't  the  fashion,  Mr.  Wayback,  a  bull  terrier's 
ears  arc  clipped  to  keep  them  from  getting  torn  while 
figljtiag." 

"  You're  not  a  fighting  dog,''  I  said. 

"  Not  I.  Too  much  trouble.  I  believe  in  taking  things 
easy.'" 

"  I  should  think  you  did,"  I  said,  scornfully.  "  You 
never  put  yourself  out  for  any  one,  1  notice ;  but  speak- 
ing of  cropping  ears.     What  do  you  think  of  it?  " 

"  Well,"  he  said,  with  a  sly  glance  at  my  head, "  it  isn't 
a  pleasant  operation  ;  but  one  might  as  well  l)c  out  of 
the  world  as  out  of  the  fashion.     1  don't  care,  now  .my 
lars  are  done." 

"  But,"  I  said,  "  think  of  the  poor  dogs  that  will  come 
after  you." 

"What  difference  does  that  make  to  me?"  he  said. 
"  I'll  be  dead  and  out  of  the  way.  Men  can  cut  off  their 
ears,  and  tails,  and  legs  too,  if  they  want  to." 

"  Dandy,"  I  said,  angrily,  "  you're  the  most  selfish  dog 
that  I  ever  saw." 

"  Don't  excite  yourself,"  he  said,  coolly.  "Let  rae  get  on 
with  my  stor} .  When  I  was  a  few  months  old,  I  began 
to  find  the  stable  yard  narrow  and  wondered  what  there 
was  outside  it.    I  discovered  a  hole  in  the  garden  wall, 

T 


I  I 


III 


290 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


aud  used  to  sneak  out  nights.  Ob,  what  fun  it  was.  I 
got  to  know  a  lot  of  street  dogs,  and  we  had  gay  times, 
barking  under  people's  wind(j\vs  and  making  tbera  mad, 
and  getting  into  back  yards  and  clwising  cats.  We  used 
to  kill  a  cat  nearly  every  night.  I'ulicemeu  would  chaso 
us,  aud  we  would  run  and  run  till  the  water  just  ran  off 
our  tongues,  and  we  hadn't  a  bit  of  breath  left.  Then 
I'd  go  home  and  sleep  all  day,  and  go  out  again  the  next 
night.  When  1  was  about  a  year  old,  I  began  to  stay 
out  days  as  well  as  nights.  They  couldn't  keep  me  home. 
Then  I  ran  away  for  three  montlis.  I  got  with  an  old 
lady  on  Fifth  avenue,  who  was  very  fond  of  dogs.  She 
had  four  white  poodles,  and  hpr  servants  used  to  wash 
them,  and  tie  up  their  huir  with  blue  ribbons,  and  she 
used  to  take  them  for  drives  in  her  phaeton  in  the  park, 
and  ihey  wore  gold  and  silver  collars.  The  biggest 
poodle  wore  a  ruby  in  his  collar  worth  five  hundred  dol- 
lars. I  went  driving  too,  and  sometimes  we  met  my 
master.  He  often  smiled,  and  shook  his  head  at  me.  I 
heard  him  tell  the  coachman  one  day  that  I  was  a  little 
blackguard,  and  he  was  to  let  me  come  aud  go  as  I 
liked." 

"  If  they  had  whipped  you  soundly,"  I  said,  "  it  might 
have  made  a  good  dog  of  you." 

"  I'm  good  enough  now,"  said  Dandy,  airily.  "  The 
young  ladies  who  drove  with  my  master,  used  to  say  that 
it  was  priggish  and  tiresome  to  be  too  good  To  go  on 
with  my  story:  I  stayed  with  Mrs.  Judge  Tibbett  till  I 
I  got  sick  of  her  fussy  ways.  She  made  a  simpleton  of 
herself  over  those  poodles.  Each  one  had  a  high  chair 
at  the  table  and  a  j)late,  and  they  always  sat  in  these 
cliairs  and  had  meals  with  her,  and  the  servants  all  called 
them  Master  IJijou,  and  Master  Tot,  and  Miss  Tiny,  and 


DAXDY   TUB  TRAMP. 


291 


03 


Miss  Fluff'.    One  day  they  tried  to  make  me  sit  in  a 

ctmir,  and  I  gut  cruss  au^  bit  Mrs.  Tibbett,  iind  she  beat 
nic  cruelly,  uud  her  servants  stuued  lue  away  from  the 
bouse." 

"  Speaking  about  fools,  Dandy,"  I  said,  "  if  it  is  polite 
to  call  a  lady  one,  I  should  say  that  that  lady  wsis  one. 
Dogs  shouldn't  be  put  out  of  their  place.  Why  didn'tr 
she  have  some  poor  cliildren  at  lier  table,  and  in  her  car- 
riage, and  let  the  dogs  run  behind '? " 

"  Easy  to  see  you  don't  know  New  York,"  said  Dandy, 
with  a  laugh.  "  Poor  children  don't  live  with  rich,  old 
ladies.  Mrs.  Tibbett  hated  children  anyway.  Tlien  doga 
like  poodles  would  get  lost  in  the  mud,  or  killed  in  the 
crowd  if  they  ran  behind  a  carriage.  Only  knowing  doga 
like  me  can  make  their  way  about."  I  rather  doubted 
this  speech,  but  I  said  nothing,  and  he  went  on,  patroniz- 
ingly :  "  However,  Joe,  thou  hast  reason,  as  the  French 
say.  Mrs.  Judge  Tibbett  didn't  give  her  dogs  exercise 
enough.  Their  claws  were  as  long  as  Chinamen's  nails, 
and  the  hair  grew  over  their  pads,  and  they  had  red  eyes 
and  were  always  sick,  and  she  had  to  dose  them  with 
medicine,  .and  call  them  her  poor,  little,  'weeny-teeny, 
sicky-wicky  doggies.'  Bah!  I  got  disgusted  with  her. 
When  I  lefl  her,  I  ran  away  to  her  niece'b,  Miss  Ball's. 
She  was  a  sensible  young  lady,  and  she  used  to  scold  her 
aunt  for  the  way  in  which  she  brougiit  up  her  dogs.  She 
was  almost  too  sensible,  for  her  pug  and  I  were  rubbed 
and  scrubbed  within  an  inch  of  our  lives,  and  had  to  go 
for  such  long  walks  that  I  got  thoroughly  sick  of  them. 
A  woman  whom  the  servants  called  Trotsey,  came  every 
morning,  and  too^  the  pug  and  me  by  our  chains,  and 
sometimes  another  dog  or  two,  and  took  us  for  long  tramps 
iu  quiet  streets.    That  was  Trotsey'b  business,  to  walk 


292 


BEAUTIFUL   JOK. 


doi,'3,  and  Mias  Ball  g<»t  a  great  many  faahionab'.e  young 
ladies  who  could  not  exercise  their  dogi*,  to  let  Trotsey  have 
tbcra,  and  they  said  that  it  made  a  gnat  difference  iu  the 
health  and  appearance  of  their  pets.  Trotsey  gut  fifteen 
cents  an  hour  for  a  dog.  Goodness,  what  appetites  tliose 
walks  gave  us,  and  didn't  we  make  the  dog  biscuits  dis- 
appear? But  it  was  a  alow  life  at  Miss  Ball's.  We  only 
saw  her  for  a  little  while  every  day.  She  slept  till  noon. 
Atler  lunch  she  played  with  us  for  a  little  while  in  the 
green-house,  then  she  was  off  driving  or  visiting,  and  in 
the  evening  she  always  had  company,  or  went  to  a  dance, 
or  to  the  theatre.  I  soon  made  up  my  mind  tliat  I'd  run 
away.  I  jumped  out  of  a  window  one  fine  morning,  and 
ran  home.  I  stayed  there  for  a  long  time.  My  mother 
had  been  run  over  by  a  cart  and  killed,  and  I  wa.sn't  sorry. 
Mv  roaster  never  bothered  his  head  about  me,  and  I 
could  do  as  I  liked.  One  day  when  I  was  having  a  walk, 
and  meeting  a  lot  of  dogs  that  I  knew,  u  little  boy  came 
behind  me,  and  before  I  could  tell  what  he  was  doing,  he 
had  snatched  rae  up,  and  was  running  off  with  me.  I 
couldn't  bite  him,  for  he  had  stuffed  some  of  his  rags  in 
my  mouth.  He  took  me  to  a  tenement  house,  in  a  part 
of  the  city  that  I  had  never  been  in  before.  He  belonged 
to  a  very  poor  family.  My  faith,  weren't  they  badly  oiV — 
six  chiKlren,  and  a  mother  and  father,  all  living  in  two 
tiny  rooms.  Scarcely  a  bit  of  meat  did  I  smell  while  I 
was  there.  I  hated  their  bread  and  molasses,  and  the 
place  sinelled  so  badly  that  I  thought  I  should  choke. 

"They  kept  me  shut  up  in  their  dirty  rooms  for 
several  days ;  and  the  brat  of  a  boy  that  caught  me,  slept 
with  his  arm  around  me  at  night.  The  weather  was  hot 
and  sometimes  we  couldn't  sleep,  and  tney  had  to  go  up 
on  the  roof.    After  a  while,  they  chained  me  up  in  a  filthy 


hi!: 


DANDY  THE  TRAMP. 


293 


yaid  at  the  back  of  the  house,  ntul  thrre  I  thuught  I 
should  gu  mud.  1  would  huve  likid  to  hitc  them  all  tu 
death,  if  I  hud  durod.  It's  awfid  to  l)e  cliuined,  «(.  'ci- 
ally  for  a  dog  like  mc  thnt  Iovch  his  freedom.  Tiie  flies 
worried  nic,  uiui  the  nuise.s  di.stracted  me,  and  my  flesh 
would  fairly  creep  from  geitiiij,'  no  exercise.  I  waa  there 
nearly  a  montli,  while  they  were,  waiting  for  a  reward  to 
be  ofl'ered.  But  none  came ;  und  one  day,  the  boy's 
father,  who  wus  a  s^trcet  peddler,  took  me  l)y  my  chain 
and  led  me  about  tlie  streets  till  he  sold  me.  A  gentle- 
man  got  me  for  hia  little  boy,  but  I  didn't  like  the  look 
of  him,  80  I  sprang  up  and  bit  his  huiid,  and  he  dron{K'd 
the  chain,  and  i  dodged  boys  and  policemen,  and  finally 
got  home  more  dead  than  alive,  and  looking  Mke  a  skele- 
ton. I  had  a  good  time  for  several  wotks,  and  tlun  I 
began  to  get  restless  and  was  oil'  again.  But  I'm  getting 
tired,  I  want  to  go  to  sleep." 

"You're  not  very  polite,"  I  said,  "to  ofier  to  tell  a 
story,  and  then  go  to  sleep  before  you  finish  it." 

"  Look  out  for  number  one,  ray  boy,"  said  Dandy  with 
a  yawn ;  "  for  if  you  don't,  no  one  else  will,"  and  he  shut 
his  eyes  and  was  fast  asleep  in  a  few  minutes. 

I  sat  and  looked  at  him.  What  a  handsome,  good- 
natured,  worthless  dog  be  was.  A  few  days  later,  he  told 
me  the  rest  of  his  history.  After  a  great  many  wander- 
ings, he  happened  home  one  day  just  us  his  master's  yacht 
was  going  to  sail,  and  they  chained  him  up  till  they  went 
on  board,  so  that  he  could  be  an  auiusemeut  on  the  pas- 
sage to  Fairport. 

It  was  in  November  that  Dandy  came  to  \\s,  and  he 
stayed  all  winter.  He  made  fun  of  the  Moriiaes  all  the 
time,  and  said  they  had  a  dull,  poky,  old  house,  and  he 
only  stayed  because  Miss  Laura  was  nursing  him.     He 


294 


BEAUTIFUL  J<  >R. 


had  u  little  sore  on  his  hack  that  she  soon  found  out  wn, 
munge.  Iler  fatlicr  said  it  was  a  hud  (Ii8<'us<>  for  do;{s  to 
have,  and  Dundy  hud  hotter  he  shot ;  hut  siie  hl>)^^a>d  po 
hard  for  his  life,  tind  said  she  would  eurc  him  in, a  few 
weeks,  that  hIic  was  allowed  to  keep  liiin.  Dundy  wuHu't 
capahle  of  getting  really  angry,  hut  he  was  us  disturhed 
about  havitig  this  diseusc  as  he  could  be  uhout  unytliing. 
He  said  that  he  had  got  it  from  a  little,  numgy  dog,  that 
he  had  ployed  with  a  few  weeks  hefore.  He  was  only 
\vith  the  dog  a  little  while,  and  didn't  think  he  X'oidd 
take  it,  but  it  seemed  he  knew  what  an  easy  thing  it  wa« 
to  get. 

Until  he  got  well  he  was  separated  from  us.  ^^i8fl 
Laurp  kept  him  up  in  the  loft  with  the  rabbits,  where  we 
could  not  go;  and  the  hoys  ran  him  around  the  garden 
for  exercise.  Siic  tried  all  kinds  of  cures  for  him,  and  I 
heard  her  say  that  though  it  wvs  a  skin  disease,  his  blood 
must  be  purified.  She  gave  liiui  some  of  the  pills  tiiat 
she  made  out  of  sulplmr  and  butter  for  Jim,  and  liilly, 
and  me,  to  keep  our  coats  silky  and  smooth.  When  they 
didn't  cure  him,  she  gave  him  a  few  drops  of  arsenic 
every  day,  and  washed  the  sore,  and,  indeed  his  whole 
body  with  tobacco  water  or  carbolic  soup.  It  wa.s  the 
tobacco  water  that  cured  him. 

Miss  Laura  always  put*  on  gloves  when  she  went  near 
him,  and  used  a  brush  to  wash  him,  for  if  a  person  takes 
mange  from  a  do2,  they  may  lose  their  hair  and  th'  ir 
eyelashes.  But  if  tliey  are  careful,  no  harm  comes  from 
nursing  a  mangy  dog,  and  I  liave  never  known  of  any 
one  taking  the  disease. 

After  a  time,  Dandy's  sore  healed,  and  he  was  Bet  free. 
He  was  right  glad  he  said,  for  he  hud  got  lieartily  sick  of 
the  rub  bite.    He  used  to  bark  at  them  and  make  them 


DANDY    rilR  TRAMP. 


29.> 


them 


nu;jy,  and  they  would  nin  of<>ui>d  tli"  liift.Maniiiin'^  their 
bind  luct  ut  him,  in  tiiu  t'duuy  wuy  thui  ruhl)it«  do.  I 
think  they  diuUkcd  him  lu  much  us  lie  didlike<i  thoni. 
Jim  and  I  did  not  get  thi;  nuui.,'('.  Dandy  wtu  nut  u 
Htrung  dii;^%  iitid  I  tliiiik  hi.s  irr>-:r.iliir  way  oriiviii<;  made 
him  tuku  diKoiucd  rcudilv.  ilu  would  Htiitl'  him.st'U' whon 
ho  wiu)  hungry,  aitd  lit>  always  want<-d  rich  food.  If  be 
couldn't  gut  what  hu  wanted  at  the  Morris's',  he  went  out 
and  Htole,  or  visited  the  dumps  at  the  hack  of  the  town. 

Wlien  he  did  u'et  ill,  he  w;w  more  fltupid  about  doctor- 
ing himtjelf  than  any  dog  that  I  have  ever  seen,  iio 
never  seemeil  to  know  when  to  eat  gniw,  or  herbs,  or  a 
little  earth,  that  would  have  kept  him  in  good  condition. 
A  dog  should  never  he  without  gra-ss.  When  Dandy  got 
ill,  he  ju9tsuilercd  till  he  got  well  again,  and  never  tried 
to  cure  himself  of  hi.s  dumll  M-ouldes.  Some  dogs  even 
know  enough  to  amputate  their  limbs.  Jim  told  me  a 
very  interesting  story  of  a  dog  the  Morrises  once  bi.d, 
called  Gyp,  whose  hig  became  paralyzed  by  a  kick  from  :i 
horse.  He  knew  the  leg  was  dead,  and  gnawed  it  otf 
nearly  to  the  shoulder,  and  though  he  Wits  very  sick  fur  a 
time,  yet  in  th(>  end  he  got  well. 

To  return  to  Dandy.  I  knew  he  was  only  waiting  for 
the  spring  to  leave  us,  and  I  was  liot  sorry.  I'lie  liri^t  hue 
day  no  was  off,  and  during  the  rest  of  the  spring  and  sum- 
mer we  occasionally  met  him  running  about  the  town 
with  a  set  of  fa^t  dog-i.  One  day  I  stopped,  and  a.sk(>il 
him  how  he  contented  himself  in  such  a  <|iiiet  place  :is 
Fairport,  and  he  buid  he  was  dying  to  get  back  to  N(  w 
York,  and  was  hoping  that  his  nnister's  yacht  would  come 
and  take  him  uway. 

Poor  Dandy  never  left  Fairport.  After  all,  he  w:w 
not  such  a  bud  dug.    Tberu  was  nothing  really  viciuuB 


ii 


296 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


about  him,  and  I  hate  in  speak  of  his  end.  His  master'n 
yacht  did  not  oine,  and  soon  the  siiuimer  was  over,  aiiu 
the  winter  was  c  )iuing,  and  no  one  wanted  Dandy,  for  he 
had  such  a  bad  name.  He  got  hungry  and  cold,  and  one 
day  sprang  upon  a  little  girl,  to  take  away  a  piece  of 
bread  and  lutterthat  she  was  eating.  He  did  not  see  the 
large  house-dog  on  the  door  sill,  and  before  he  could  get 
away,  the  dog  had  seized  him,  and  bitten  and  shaken  him 
till  he  was  nearly  dead.  When  the  dog  throw  him  aside, 
he  crawled  to  the  Morrises',  and  Miss  Laura  bandaged 
his  wounds,  and  made  him  a  bed  in  the  stable. 

One  Sunday  morning,  she  washed  and  fed  him  very 
tenderly,  for  she  knew  he  could  not  live  much  longer. 
He  was  so  weak  that  he  could  scarcely  eat  the  food  that 
she  put  in  his  mouth,  so  she  let  him  lick  so'ue  milk  from 
her  finger.  As  she  was  going  to  church,  I  could  not  go 
with  her,  but  I  ran  down  the  lane  and  watched  her  out  of 
aight.  When  I  came  back,  Dandy  was  gone.  I  looked 
till  I  found  him.  He  had  crawled  into  the  darkest  cor- 
ner of  the  stable  to  die,  and  though  he  was  suffering  very 
much,  he  never  uttered  a  sound.  I  sat  by  him,  and 
thought  of  his  master  in  New  York.  If  he  had  brought 
Dandy  up  properly  he  might  not  now  be  here  in  liis  silent 
death  agony.  A  young  pup  should  be  trained  just  as  a 
child  is,  and  punished  when  he  goes  wrong.  Dandy  be- 
gan badly,  and  not  being  checkt'l  in  his  evil  ways,  had 
come  to  this.  Poor  Dandy !  Poor,  !\andsome  dog  of  a 
rich  master  !  He  opened  his  dull  eyes,  gave  me  one  last 
glance,  then,  with  a  convulsive  shudder,  his  torn  limbs 
were  still.     He  would  never  suffer  any  more. 

When  Miss  Laura  came  home,  she  cried  bitterly  to 
know  that  he  was  dead.  The  boys  took  him  away  from 
her,  and  made  him  a  grave  in  the  corner  of  the  garden. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 


THE   END  OF   MY   STORY. 

HAVE  come  now  to  the  last  chapter  of  my 
story.  I  thought  when  I  began  to  write,  that  I 
would  put  down  the  events  of  each  year  of  my 
life,  but  I  fear  that  would  make  my  story  too  long,  and 
neither  Miss  Laura  nor  any  boys  and  girls  would  care  to 
read  it.  So  I  will  stop  just  here,  though  I  would  gladly 
go  on,  for  I  have  enjoyed  so  much  talking  over  old  times, 
that  I  am  very  soriy  to  leave  off. 

Every  year  that  I  have  been  at  the  Morrises',  something 
pleasant  has  happened  to  me,  but  I  cannot  put  ali  *.hcse 
things  down,  nor  can  I  tell  how  Miss  Laura  and  the  boys 
grew  and  changed,  year  by  year,  till  now  they  are  quite 
grown  up.  I  will  just  bring  ray  tale  down  to  the  present 
time,  and  then  I  will  stop  talking,  and  go  lie  down  in  my 
basket,  for  I  am  an  old  dog  now,  and  get  tired  very 
easily. 

I  was  a  year  old  when  I  went  to  the  Morrises,  and  I 
have  been  with  them  for  twelve  years.  I  am  not  living 
in  the  same  house  witli  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morris  now,  but  I 
am  with  my  dear  Miss  Laura,  who  is  Mi.ss  Laura  no 
longer,  but  Mrs  Gray.  She  married  Mr.  Harry  four 
years  ago,  and  lives  with  him  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Wood, 
on  Dingley  Farm.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Morris  live  in  a  cot- 
tage near  by.     Mr.  Morris  is  not'  very  strong,  and  can 

2*.!: 


298 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


preach  DO  longer.  The  boys  are  all  scattered.  Jack  mar- 
ried pretty  Miss  Bessie  Drury,  and  lives  on  a  lar^re  farm 
near  here.  Miss  Bessie  says  that  she  hates  to  be  a  farm- 
er's wife,  but  she  always  looks  very  happy  and  contented, 
so  I  tliink  tiiat  she  must  l)e  mistaken.  Carl  is  a  merchant  in 
New  York,  Ned  is  a  clerk  in  a  bank,  and  Willie  isa*.udy- 
ing  at  a  place  called  Harvard.  He  f^ays  thiit  after  he 
finishes  his  studies,  he  is  going  to  live  with  his  father  and 
mother. 

The  Morrises'  old  friends  often  come  to  see  them.  Mrs. 
Drury  comes  every  summer  on  her  way  to  Newport,  and 
Mr.  Montague  and  Charlie  come  every  uiher  sunmier. 
Charlie  always  brings  with  him  his  old  dog  Brisk,  who  is 
getting  feeble,  like  myself.  We  lie  on  the  veranda  in  the 
sunsLine,  and  listen  to  the  Morrises  talking  about  old  days, 
and  sometimes  it  n'akes  us  feel  quite  young  a<;ain.  In 
addition  to  Brisk  we  liave  a  Scotcii  collie.  He  is  very 
handsome,  and  is  a  con.stunt  attendant  of  Miss  Laura's. 
We  are  great  friends,  he  and  I,  but  he  can  get  abo'it 
much  better  than  I  can.  One  day  a  friend  of  ^!i.»s 
Laura's  came  with  a  little  boy  and  girl,  and  "Collie  '"  ?at 
between  the  two  children,  and  their  father  took  their 
picture  with  a  "  kodak."  I  like  him  so  nuicli  that  I  uold 
him  I  would  get  them  to  put  his  picture  in  my  book. 

When  the  Morris  boys  are  all  here  in  the  summer  we 
have  gay  times.  All  through  the  winter  we  look  forward 
to  their  coming,  for  they  make  the  old  farmiiouse  so 
lively.  Mr.  Maxwell  never  misses  a  summer  in  coming 
to  Riverdale.  He  has  such  a  following  of  dui!ib  animals 
no.v,  that  he  says  he  can't  move  them  any  farther  away 
from  Boston  than  this,  and  l"e  doesn't  know  what  he  will 
do  ',vilh  them,  unless  he  sets  up  a  menagerie.  He  asked 
Miss  Laura  the  other  day,  if  she  thought  that  the  old 


^^ 


B 

H 

M 


I  Z 


'a 


THE   END   OP   ky  STORY. 


299 


Italian  woald  take  him  iuto  partnership.  He  did  nut 
know  what  had  happened  to  poor  J^elliui,  ^o  Mias  Laura 
told  him.  '\ 

A  few  years  ago  the  Italian  came'to  Riverdale,  to  ex- 
hibit his  new  stock  of  performing  animals.  They  were 
almost  as  good  as  the  old  ones,  but  he  had  not  quite  so 
many  as  he  had  before.  The  Morrises  and  a  great  many 
of  their  friends  went  to  his  performance,  and  Miss  Laura 
said  afterward,  that  when  cunning  little  Billy  came  on 
the  stage,  and  made  his  bow,  and  went  through  his  antics 
of  jumping  through  hoops,  and  catching  balls,  that  she 
almost  had  hysterics.  The  Italian  had  made  a  special 
pet  of  him  for  the  Morrises'  sake,  and  treated  him  more 
like  a  human  being  than  a  dog.  Billy  rather  put  on  airs 
when  he  came  up  to  the  farm  to  see  us,  but  he  was  such  a 
dear  little  dog,  in  spite  of  being  almost  spoiled  by  his 
master,  that  Jim  and  I  could  not  get  angry  with  him.  In 
a  few  days  they  went  away,  and  we  heard  nothing  but 
good  news  from  them,  till  last  winter.  Then  a  letter 
came  to  Miss  Laura  from  a  nurse  in  a  New  York  hospi- 
tal. She  said  that  the  Italian  was  very  near  his  end,  and 
he  wanted  her  to  write  to  Mrs.  Gray  to  tell  her  that  he 
had  sold  all  his  animals  but  the  little  dog  that  she  had  so 
kindly  given  him.  He  was  seiidinir  liiiu  back  to  her,  and 
with  his  latest  breath  ho  would  pray  i'or  heaven's  blt'ss- 
ing  on  the  kind  lady  and  her  family  that  had  befriended 
him  when  he  was  in  trouble. 

The  next  day  Billy  arrived,  a  thin,  white  scarecrow  of 
a  dog.  He  was  sick  and  unhappy,  and  would  eat  nothing, 
and  started  up  at  the  slighest  sound.  He  was  listening 
for  the  Italian's  footsteps,  but  he  never  came,  and  one 
day  Mr.  Harry  loo'ked  up  from  his  newspaper  and  said, 
"  I^aura,  Bellini  is  dead."    Miss  Laura's  eyes  filled  with 


300 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


m 


tears,  and  Billy,  who  had  jumped  up  when  he  heard  his 
master's  name,  fell  back  again.  He  knew  what  they 
meant,  and  from  that  instant  he  ceased  listening  for  foot- 
steps, and  lay  quite  still  till  he  died.  Miss  Laura  had 
him  put  in  a  little,  wooden  box,  and  buried  him  in  a  cor- 
ner of  the  garden,  and  when  she  is  working  among  her 
flowers,  she  often  speaks  regretfully  of  liira,  and  of  poor 
Dandy,  who  lies  in  the  garden  at  Fairport. 

Bella,  the  parrot,  lives  with  Mrs.  Morris,  and  is  as  smart 
as  ever.  I  have  heard  tl.at  parrots  live  to  a  very  great  age. 
Some  of  them  even  get  to  be  a  hundred  years  old.  If 
that  is  the  case,  Bella  will  outlive  all  of  us.  She  notices 
that  1  am  getting  blind  and  feeble,  and  when  I  go  down 
to  call  on  Mrs.  Morris,  she  calls  out  to  me,  "  Keep  a  stiff 
upper  lip,  Beautiful  Joe.  Never  say  die,  Beautiful  Joe. 
Keep  the  game  agoing.  Beautiful  Joe." 

Mrs.  Morris  says  that  she  doesn't  know  where  Bella  picks 
up  her  slang  words.  I  think  it  is  Mr.  Ned  who  teaches 
her,  for  when  he  comes  home  in  tlie  summer  he  often  says 
with  a  sly  twuikle  in  his  eye,  "Come  out  into  the  garden, 
Bella,"  and  he  lies  in  a  hammock  under  the  trees,  and 
Bella  perclie.s  on  a  branch  near  him,  and  he  talks  to  her 
by  the  hour.  Anyway,  it  i'  in  the  autumn  after  he  leaves 
Riverdale  that  Bella  always  shocks  Mrs.  Morris  with  her 
slang  talk. 

I  am  glad  that  I  am  to  end  my  days  in  Riverdale. 
Fairport  was  a  very  nice  place,  but  it  was  not  open  and 
free  like  this  farm.  I  take  a  walk  every  morning  tliat 
the  sun  shines.  I  go  out  among  the  horses  and  cows,  and 
stop  to  watch  the  hens  pecking  at  their  food.  This  is  a 
happy  place,  and  I  hope  my  dear  Miss  Laura  will  live  to 
enjoy  it  many  years  after  I  am  gone. 

I  have  very  few  worries.     Tlie  pigs  bother  me  a  little 


ird  hia 
it  they 
ir  foot- 
ra  had 
I  a  cor- 
ng  her 
)f  poor 

ls  smart 
eat  age. 
Id.  If 
notices 
ro  down 
p  a  stiff 
i'ul  Joe. 

Ha  picks 
teaches 
"ten  says 
!  garden, 
ees,  and 
s  to  her 
le  leaves 
with  her 

iverdale. 

pen  and 

■ing  that 

lows,  and 

This  is  a 

U  live  to 


THE   END  OP   MY  STORY. 


301 


le  a 


little 


in  the  spring,  by  rooting  up  the  bones  that  I  bury  in  the 
fields  in  the  fall,  hut  that  is  a  small  matter,  and  I  try  not  to 
mind  it.  I  get  a  great  many  bones  here,  and  I  should  be 
glad  if  I  had  sume  poor  city  dogs  to  help  me  eat  them. 
I  don't  think  bones  are  good  for  pigs. 

Then  tliere  is  Mr.  Harry's  tame  squirrel  o-.t  in  one  of 
the  barns  that  teases  me  consideral)ly.  He  knows  that  I 
can't  chase  him,  now  that  my  legs  are  so  still'  with  rheu- 
matism, and  lie  takes  delight  in  showing  me  hew  spry  he 
can  be,  darting  around  me  and  whisking  his  tail  almost 
in  my  face,  and  trying  to  got  me  to  run  after  him,  so  that 
he  can  laugh  at  me.  I  don't  think  tliat  he  is  a  very 
thoughtful  squirrel,  but  I  try  not  to  notice  him. 

The  sailor  boy  who  gave  Bella  to  the  Morrises,  has  got 
to  be  a  large,  stout  man,  and  is  the  first  mate  of  a  vessel. 
He  sometimes  comes  here,  and  when  he  does,  he  always 
brings  the  Morrises  presents  of  foreign  fruits  and  curiosi- 
ties of  different  kinds. 

Malta,  the  cat,  is  still  living,  and  is  with  Mrs.  ^forris. 
Davy,  the  rat,  is  gone,  so  is  poor  old  Jim.  He  went  away 
.ine  day  last  summer,  and  no  one  ever  knew  what  became 
of  him.  Tlie  Morrises  searched  everywhere  for  him,  and 
offered  a  large  reward  to  any  one  who  would  find  him,  but 
he  never  turned  up  again.  I  think  that  he  felt  he  was 
going  to  die,  and  went  into  some  out-of-the-way  place. 
He  remembered  how  badly  Miss  Laura  felt  when  Dandy 
died,  and  he  wanted  to  spare  her  the  greater  sorrow  of  hia 
death.  He  was  always  sucli  a  thoughtful  dog,  and  so 
anxious  not  to  give  trouble.  I  am  more  selfish.  I  couid 
not  go  away  from  Miss  Laura,  even  to  die.  When  my 
last  hour  comes,  I  want  to  see  her  gentle  face  bending 
over  me,  and  then  I  shall  not  mind  how  much  I  suffer. 

She  is  just  as  tender-hearted  as  ever,  but  she  tries  not 


-jy^'i^^'wyji^fffyy^i  " 


302 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


to  feel  too  badly  about  the  sorrow  and  BuflTering  in  the 
W(jrld,  because  she  says  that  wouhi  weaken  her,  and  she 
wants  all  her  strength  to  try  to  put  a  stop  to  some  of  it. 
She  does  a  great  deal  of  good  in  Riverdale,  and  I  do  not 
think  that  there  is  any  one  in  all  the  country  around 
who  is  as  much  bel(»ved  as  she  is. 

She  has  never  forgotten  tlie  resolve  that  she  made  some 
years  ago,  that  she  would  do  all  tliat  she  could  to  protect 
dumb  creatures.  Mr.  Harry  and  Mr.  Maxwell  have 
helped  her  nobly.  Mr.  Maxwell's  work  is  largely  done 
in  Boston,  and  Miss  Laura  and  Mr.  Harry  have  to  do 
the  most  of  theirs  by  writing,  for  Riverdale  has  got  to  be 
a  model  village  in  respect  of  the  treatment  of  all  kinds 
of  animals.  It  is  a  model  village  not  only  in  that  respect, 
but  in  others.  It  has  seemed  as  if  all  other  improve- 
ments went  hand  in  hand  with  the  humane  treatment  of 
animals.  Thoi'ghtfulness  toward  lower  creatures  has 
made  the  people  more  and  more  thoughtful  toward  them- 
selves, and  this  little  town  is  getting  to  have  quite  a  name 
through  the  State  for  its  good  schools,  good  society,  and 
good  business  and  religious  standing.  Many  people  are 
moving  into  it,  to  educate  their  children.  The  River- 
dale people  are  very  particular  about  what  sort  of  stran- 
gers come  to  live  among  them. 

A  man  who  came  liere  two  years  ago  and  opened  a 
shop,  was  seen  kicking  a  small  kitten  out  of  his  house. 
The  next  dav  a  committtee  of  Riverdale  citizens  waited 
on  him,  and  said  they  had  had  a  great  deal  of  trouble  to 
root  out  cruelty  from  their  village,  and  they  didn't  want 
any  one  to  come  there  and  introduce  it  again,  and  thoy 
thought  he  had  better  move  on  to  some  other  place.  The 
man  was  utterly  astonished,  and  said  he'd  never  heard 
of  such  particular  people.    He  Ifad  had  no  thought  of 


THE   END   OF   MY   STORY. 


303 


in  the 

and  she 

lie  of  it. 

I  do  not 

around 

ade  some 
0  protect 
ell  have 
rely  done 
ive  to  do 
got  to  be 
all  kinds 
it  respect, 
improve- 
xtment  of 
Aires    has 
■ard  them- 
ite  a  name 
iciety,  and 
people  are 
:'be  River- 
t  of  stran- 

opened  a 
his  house. 
;eii3  waited 

trouble  to 
idn't  want 
,  and  thoy 
>lace.  The 
ever  heard 
thought  of 


being  cruel.  He  didn't  think  that  the  kitten  cared  ;  but 
uow  when  he  turne(J,  tliL>  thing  over  in  his  mind,  lie  diihi't 
suppose  catri  liked  beiui^  kicked  al)out  any  iiiuro  than  he 
would  like  it  liiinself,  and  lie  would  promise  to  be  kind 
to  them  in  future.  He  said  too,  tliat  if  tlifv  liad  no  ob- 
jection, he  would  just  stay  on,  for  if  the  people  there 
treated  dumb  animals  with  such  consi»ierati(m,  tliey 
would  certainly  treat  hunuin  boins^s  bttter,  and  he 
thought  it  would  be  a  good  place  to  bring  up  his  chil- 
«lrenin.  Of  course  they  let  him  stay,  and  tie  is  now  a  man 
who  is  celebrated  for  his  kindness  to  every  living  thing; 
and  he  never  refuses  to  help  Mi.ss  Laura  when  she  goes 
to  him  for  money  to  cany  out  any  of  her  humane 
schemes. 

There  is  one  most  important  saying  of  Miss  Laura's 
that  comes  out  of  her  years  of  service  for  dumb  animals 
that  I  must  put  in  before  I  close,  and  it  is  this.  She  says 
that  cruel  and  vicious  owners  of  animals  should  be  pun- 
ished ;  but  to  merely  thoughtless  people,  don't  say 
"Don't  "so  much.  Don't  go  to  tiiom  and  say,  "  Don't 
overfeed  your  animab,  and  don't  starve  them,  and  don't 
overwork  them,  and  don't  beat  them,"  and  so  on  through 
the  long  list  of  hardships  that  can  be  put  upon  suffering 
animals,  but  say  simply  to  them,  "  Be  kind.  Make  a 
study  of  your  aninuils  wants,  and  tee  tiiat  they  are  satis- 
fietl.  No  one  can  tell  you  how  to  treat  your  aninlal  as 
well  as  you  should  know  yourself,  for  you  are  with  it  all 
the  time,  and  know  its  disposition,  and  just  how  much 
work  it  can  stand,  ami  liow  much  rest  and  food  it  needs. 
and  just  how  it  is  dilllrent  from  every  other  animal.  If 
it  is  sick  or  unhappy,  you  are  the  one  to  take  care  of  it; 
for  nearly  every  animal  loves  its  own  master  better  than  a 
stranger,  and  will  get  well  quicker  under  his  care." 


*;:») 


304 


BEAUTIFUL  JOE. 


MLbs  Laura  says  that  if  men  and  women  are  kind  in 
every  respect  to  tlieir  dmnl)  servant.",  they  will  be 
astonished  to  find  h.iV  much  hap|)iuci>s  they  will  bring 
into  their  lives,  und  bow  fuithful  and  grateful  their  dumb 
animals  will  be  to  them. 

Now  I  must  really  close  my  story.  Good-bye  to  the 
boys  and  girls  who  may  read  it ;  and  if  it  is  not  wrong 
for  a  doj;  to  sav  it,  I  sliould  like  to  add,  "  God  bless  vou 
all."  If  in  my  feeble  way  I  have  been  able  to  impress 
you  with  tlic  fact  that  dogs  and  many  other  animals  love 
their  masters  and  mistresses,  and  live  only  to  pi'  ^se  them, 
my  little  story  will  not  bo  written  in  vain.  Aly  last 
words  are,  "  Boys  and  girls,  be  kind  to  dumb  animals  not 
only  because  you  will  lose  nothing  by  it,  but  because  you 
ought  to ;  for  they  we're  placed  on  the  earth  by  the  same 
Kind  Hand  that  made  all  living  creatures." 


'omen  are  kind  in 
't.«,  they  will  be 
sa  they  will  bring 
fateful  their  dumb 

Good-bye  to  the 
i  it  ia  not  wrong 
>  "  God  bless  you 
1  able  to  impress 
;l>er  animals  love 
y  to  pi'asethera, 

vain.     My  i^^ 

irab  animals  not 

but  because  you 

«'»  by  the  same 
_  I) 


